Shōgun (The Asian Saga Book 1)

The day was dying now, the shadows long, the sea red, and a kind wind blowing.

Blackthorne was coming up the path from the village toward the house that Mariko had earlier pointed out and told him was to be his.  She had expected to escort him there but he had thanked her and refused and had walked past the kneeling villagers toward the promontory to be alone and to think.

He had found the effort of thinking too great.  Nothing seemed to fit.  He had doused salt water over his head to try to clear it but that had not helped.  At length he had given up and had walked back aimlessly along the shore, past the jetty, across the square and through the village, up to this house where he was to live now and where, he remembered, there had not been a dwelling before.  High up, dominating the opposite hillside, was another sprawling dwelling, part thatch, part tile, within a tall stockade, many guards at the fortified gateway.

Samurai were strutting through the village or standing talking in groups.  Most had already marched off behind their officers in disciplined groups up the paths and over the hill to their bivouac encampment.  Those samurai that Blackthorne met, he absently greeted and they greeted him in return.  He saw no villagers.

Blackthorne stopped outside the gate that was set into the fence.  There were more of the peculiar characters painted over the lintel and the door itself was cutout in ingenious patterns designed to hide and at the same time to reveal the garden behind.

Before he could open the door it swung inward and a frightened old man bowed him through.

‘Konbanwa, Anjin-san.’  His voice quavered piteously-Good evening.

‘Konbanwa,‘ he replied.  ‘Listen, old man, er—o namae ka?‘

‘Namae watashi wa, Anjin-sama?  Ah, watashi Ueki-ya . . . Ueki-ya.’  The old man was almost slavering with relief.

Blackthorne said the name several times to help remember it and added ‘san’ and the old man shook his head violently.  ‘Iyé gomen nasai! Iyé ‘san,’ Anjin-sama.  Ueki-ya! Ueki-ya!’

‘All right, Ueki-ya.’  But Blackthorne thought, why not ‘san’ like everyone else?

Blackthorne waved his hand in dismissal.  The old man hobbled away quickly.  ‘I’ll have to be more careful.  I have to help them,’ he said aloud.

A maid came apprehensively onto the veranda through an opened shoji and bowed low.

‘Konbanwa, Anjin-san.’

‘Konbanwa,‘ he replied, vaguely recognizing her from the ship.  He waved her away too.

A rustle of silk.  Fujiko came from within the house.  Mariko was with her.

‘Was your walk pleasant, Anjin-san?’

‘Yes, pleasant, Mariko-san.’  He hardly noticed her or Fujiko or the house or garden.

‘Would you like cha?  Or perhaps saké?  Or a bath perhaps?  The water is hot.’  Mariko laughed nervously, perturbed by the look in his eyes.  ‘The bath house is not completely finished, but we hope it will prove adequate.’

‘Saké, please.  Yes, some saké first, Mariko-san.’

Mariko spoke to Fujiko, who disappeared inside the house once more.  A maid silently brought three cushions and went away.  Mariko gracefully sat on one.

‘Sit down, Anjin-san, you must be tired.’

‘Thank you.’

He sat on the steps of the veranda and did not take off his thongs.  Fujiko brought two flasks of saké and a teacup, as Mariko had told her, not the tiny porcelain cup that should have been used.

‘Better to give him a lot of saké quickly,’ Mariko had said.  ‘It would be better to make him quite drunk but Lord Yabu needs him tonight.  A bath and saké will perhaps ease him.’

Blackthorne drank the proffered cup of warmed wine without tasting it.  And then a second.  And a third.

They had watched him coming up the hill through the slit of barely opened shojis.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ Fujiko had asked, alarmed.

‘He’s distressed by what Lord Yabu said—the promise to the village.’

‘Why should that bother him?  He’s not threatened.  It’s not his life that was threatened.’

‘Barbarians are very different from us, Fujiko-san.  For instance, the Anjin-san believes villagers are people, like any other people, like samurai, some perhaps even better than samurai.’

Fujiko had laughed nervously.  ‘That’s nonsense, neh?  How can peasants equal samurai?’

Mariko had not answered.  She had just continued watching the Anjin-san.  ‘Poor man,’ she said.

‘Poor village!’  Fujiko’s short upper lip curled disdainfully.  ‘A stupid waste of peasants and fishermen!  Kasigi Yabu-san’s a fool!  How can a barbarian learn our tongue in half a year?  How long did the barbarian Tsukku-san take?  More than twenty years, neh?  And isn’t he the only barbarian who’s ever been able to talk even passable Japanese?’

‘No, not the only one, though he’s the best I’ve ever heard.  Yes, it’s difficult for them.  But the Anjin-san’s an intelligent man and Lord Toranaga said that in half a year, isolated from barbarians, eating our food, living as we do, drinking cha, bathing every day, the Anjin-san will soon be like one of us.’

Fujiko’s face had been set.  ‘Look at him, Mariko-san . . . so ugly.  So monstrous and alien.  Curious to think that as much as I detest barbarians, once he steps through the gate I’m committed and he becomes my lord and master. ‘

‘He’s brave, very brave, Fujiko.  And he saved Lord Toranaga’s life and is very valuable to him.’

‘Yes, I know, and that should make me dislike him less but, so sorry, it doesn’t.  Even so, I’ll try with all my strength to change him into one of us.  I pray Lord Buddha will help me.’

Mariko had wanted to ask her niece, why the sudden change?  Why are you now prepared to serve the Anjin-san and obey Lord Toranaga so absolutely, when only this morning you refused to obey, you swore to kill yourself without permission or to kill the barbarian the moment he slept?  What did Lord Toranaga say to change you, Fujiko?

But Mariko had known better than to ask.  Toranaga had not taken her into this confidence.  Fujiko would not tell her.  The girl had been too well trained by her mother, Buntaro’s sister, who had been trained by her father, Hiro-matsu.

I wonder if Lord Hiro-matsu will escape from Osaka Castle, she asked herself, very fond of the old general, her father-in-law.  And what about Kiri-san and the Lady Sazuko?  Where is Buntaro, my husband?  Where was he captured?  Or did he have time to die?

Mariko watched Fujiko pour the last of the saké.  This cup too was consumed like the others, without expression.

‘Dozo.  Saké,’ Blackthorne said.

More saké was brought.  And finished.  ‘Dozo, saké.’

‘Mariko-san,’ Fujiko said, ‘the Master shouldn’t have any more, neh?  He’ll get drunk.  Please ask him if he’d like his bath now.  I will send for Suwo.’

Mariko asked him.  ‘Sorry, he says he’ll bathe later.’

Patiently Fujiko ordered more saké and Mariko added quietly to the maid, ‘Bring some charcoaled fish.’

The new flask was emptied with the same silent determination.  The food did not tempt him but he took a piece at Mariko’s gracious persuasion.  He did not eat it.

More wine was brought, and two more flasks were consumed.

‘Please give the Anjin-san my apologies,’ Fujiko said.  ‘So sorry, but there isn’t any more saké in his house.  Tell him I apologize for this lack.  I’ve sent the maid to fetch some more from the village.’

‘Good.  He’s had more than enough, though it doesn’t seem to have touched him at all.  Why not leave us now, Fujiko?  Now would be a good time to make the formal offer on your behalf.’

Fujiko bowed to Blackthorne and went away, glad that custom decreed that important matters were always to be handled by a third party in private.  Thus dignity could always be maintained on both sides.

Mariko explained to Blackthorne about the wine.

‘How long will it take to get more?’

‘Not long.  Perhaps you’d like to bathe now.  I’ll see that saké’s sent the instant it arrives.’

‘Did Toranaga say anything about my plan before he left?  About the navy?’

‘No.  I’m sorry, he said nothing about that.’  Mariko had been watching for the telltale signs of drunkenness.  But to her surprise none had appeared, not even a slight flush, or a slurring of words.  With this amount of wine consumed so fast, any Japanese would be drunk.  ‘The wine is not to your taste, Anjin-san?’

‘Not really.  It’s too weak.  It gives me nothing.’

‘You seek oblivion?’

‘No—a solution.’

‘Anything that can be done to help, will be done.’

‘I must have books and paper and pens.’

‘Tomorrow I will begin to collect them for you.’

‘No, tonight, Mariko-san.  I must start now.’

‘Lord Toranaga said he will send you a book—what did you call it? —the grammar books and word books of the Holy Fathers.’

‘How long will that take?’

‘I don’t know.  But I’m here for three days.  Perhaps this may be a help to you.  And Fujiko-san is here to help also.’  She smiled, happy for him.  ‘I’m honored to tell you she is given to you as consort and she—’

‘What?‘

‘Lord Toranaga asked her if she would be your consort and she said she would be honored and agreed.  She will—’

‘But I haven’t agreed.’

‘Please?  I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’

‘I don’t want her.  Either as consort or around me.  I find her ugly.’  Mariko gaped at him.  ‘But what’s that got to do with consort?’

‘Tell her to leave.’

‘But Anjin-san, you can’t refuse!  That would be a terrible insult to Lord Toranaga, to her, to everyone!  What harm has she done you?  None at all!  Usagi Fujiko’s consen—’

‘You listen to me!’  Blackthorne’s words ricocheted around the veranda and the house.  ‘Tell her to leave!’

Mariko said at once, ‘So sorry, Anjin-san, yes you’re right to be angry.  But—’

‘I’m not angry,’ Blackthorne said icily.  ‘Can’t you . . . can’t you people get it through your heads I’m tired of being a puppet?  I don’t want that woman around, I want my ship back and my crew back and that’s the end of it!  I’m not staying here six months and I detest your customs.  It’s God-cursed terrible that one man can threaten to bury a whole village just to teach me Japanese, and as to consorts—that’s worse than slavery—and it’s a goddamned insult to arrange that without asking me in advance!’

What’s the matter now? Mariko was asking herself helplessly.  What has ugliness to do with consort?  And anyway Fujiko’s not ugly.  How can he be so incomprehensible?  Then she remembered Toranaga’s admonition:  ‘Mariko-san, you’re personally responsible, firstly that Yabu-san doesn’t interfere with my departure after I’ve given him my sword, and secondly, you’re totally responsible for settling the Anjin-san docilely in Anjiro.’

‘I’ll do my best, Sire.  But I’m afraid the Anjin-san baffles me.’

‘Treat him like a hawk.  That’s the key to him.  I tame a hawk in two days.  You’ve three.’

She looked away from Blackthorne and put her wits to work.  He does seem like a hawk when he’s in a rage, she thought.  He has the same screeching, senseless ferocity, and when not in rage the same haughty, unblinking stare, the same total selfcenteredness, with exploding viciousness never far away.

‘I agree.  You’re completely right.  You’ve been imposed upon terribly, and you’re quite right to be angry,’ she said soothingly.  ‘Yes, and certainly Lord Toranaga should have asked even though he doesn’t understand your customs.  But it never occurred to him that you would object.  He only tried to honor you as he would a most favored samurai.  He made you a hatamoto, that’s almost like a kinsman, Anjin-san.  There are only about a thousand hatamoto in all the Kwanto.  And as to the Lady Fujiko, he was only trying to help you.  The Lady Usagi Fujiko would be considered . . . among us, Anjin-san, this would be considered a great honor.’

‘Why?’

‘Because her lineage is ancient and she’s very accomplished.  Her father and grandfather are daimyos.  Of course she’s samurai, and of course,’ Mariko added delicately, ‘you would honor her by accepting her.  And she does need a home and a new life.’

‘Why?’

‘She is recently widowed.  She’s only nineteen, Anjin-san, poor girl, but she lost a husband and a son and is filled with remorse.  To be formal consort to you would give her a new life.’

‘What happened to her husband and son?’

Mariko hesitated, distressed at Blackthorne’s impolite directness.  But she knew enough about him by now to understand that this was his custom and not meant as lack of manners.  ‘They were put to death, Anjin-san.  While you’re here you will need someone to look after your house.  The Lady Fujiko will be—’

‘Why were they put to death?’

‘Her husband almost caused the death of Lord Toranaga. Please con—’

‘Toranaga ordered their deaths?’

‘Yes.  But he was correct.  Ask her—she will agree, Anjin-san.’

‘How old was the child?’

‘A few months, Anjin-san.’

‘Toranaga had an infant put to death for something the father did?’

‘Yes.  It’s our custom.  Please be patient with us.  In some things we are not free.  Our customs are different from yours.  You see, by law, we belong to our liege lord.  By law a father possesses the lives of his children and wife and consorts and servants.  By law his life is possessed by his liege lord.  This is our custom.’

‘So a father can kill anyone in his house?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you’re a nation of murderers.’

‘No.’

‘But your custom condones murder.  I thought you were Christian.’

‘I am, Anjin-san.’

‘What about the Commandments?’

‘I cannot explain, truly.  But I am Christian and samurai and Japanese, and these are not hostile to one another.  To me, they’re not.  Please be patient with me and with us.  Please.’

‘You’d put your own children to death if Toranaga ordered it?’

‘Yes.  I only have one son but yes, I believe I would.  Certainly it would be my duty to do so.  That’s the law—if my husband agreed.’

‘I hope God can forgive you.  All of you.’

‘God understands, Anjin-san.  Oh, He will understand.  Perhaps He will open your mind so you can understand.  I’m sorry, I cannot explain very well, neh?  I apologize for my lack.’  She watched him in the silence, unsettled by him.  ‘I don’t understand you either, Anjin-san.  You baffle me.  Your customs baffle me.  Perhaps if we’re both patient we can both learn.  The Lady Fujiko, for instance.  As consort she will look after your house and your servants.  And your needs—any of your needs.  You must have someone to do that.  She will see to the running of your house, everything.  You do not need to pillow her, if that concerns you—if you do not find her pleasing.  You do not even need to be polite to her, though she merits politeness.  She will serve you, as you wish, in any way you wish.’

‘I can treat her any way I want?’

‘Yes.’

‘I can pillow her or not pillow her?’

‘Of course.  She will find someone that pleases you, to satisfy your body needs, if you wish, or she will not interfere.’

‘I can treat her like a servant?  A slave?’

‘Yes.  But she merits better.’

‘Can I throw her out?  Order her out?’

‘If she offends you, yes.’

‘What would happen to her?’

‘Normally she would go back to her parents’ house in disgrace, who may or may not accept her back.  Someone like Lady Fujiko would prefer to kill herself before enduring that shame.  But she—you should know true samurai are not permitted to kill themselves without their lord’s permission.  Some do, of course, but they’ve failed in their duty and aren’t worthy to be considered samurai.  I would not kill myself, whatever the shame, not without Lord Toranaga’s permission or my husband’s permission.  Lord Toranaga has forbidden her to end her life.  If you send her away, she’ll become an outcast.’

‘Why?  Why won’t her family accept her back?’

Mariko sighed.  ‘So sorry, Anjin-san, but if you send her away, her disgrace will be such that no one will accept her.’

‘Because she’s contaminated?  From being near a barbarian?’

‘Oh no, Anjin-san, only because she had failed in her duty to you,’ Mariko said at once.  ‘She is your consort now—Lord Toranaga ordered it and she agreed.  You’re master of a house now.’

‘Am I?’

‘Oh, yes, believe me, Anjin-san, you have privileges.  And as a hatamoto you’re blessed.  And well off.  Lord Toranaga’s given you a salary of twenty koku a month.  For that amount of money a samurai would normally have to provide his lord with himself and two other samurai, armed, fed, and mounted for the whole year, and of course pay for their families as well.  But you don’t have to do that.  I beg you, consider Fujiko as a person, Anjin-san.  I beg you to be filled with Christian charity.  She’s a good woman.  Forgive her her ugliness.  She’ll be a worthy consort.’

‘She hasn’t a home?’

‘Yes.  This is her home.’  Mariko took hold of herself.  ‘I beg you to accept her formally.  She can help you greatly, teach you if you wish to learn.  If you prefer, think of her as nothing—as this wooden post or the shoji screen, or as a rock in your garden—anything you wish, but allow her to stay.  If you won’t have her as consort, be merciful.  Accept her and then, as head of the house, according to our law, kill her.’

‘That’s the only answer you have, isn’t it?  Kill!’

‘No, Anjin-san.  But life and death are the same thing.  Who knows, perhaps you’ll do Fujiko a greater service by taking her life.  It’s your right now before all the law.  Your right.  If you prefer to make her outcast, that too is your right.’

‘So I’m trapped again,’ Blackthorne said.  ‘Either way she’s killed.  If I don’t learn your language then a whole village is butchered.  If I don’t do whatever you want, some innocent is always killed.  There’s no way out.’

‘There’s a very easy solution, Anjin-san.  Die.  You do not have to endure the unendurable.’

‘Suicide’s crazy—and a mortal sin.  I thought you were Christian.’

‘I’ve said I am.  But for you, Anjin-san, for you there are many ways of dying honorably without suicide.  You sneered at my husband for not wanting to die fighting, neh?  That’s not our custom, but apparently it’s yours.  So why don’t you do that?  You have a pistol.  Kill Lord Yabu.  You believe he’s a monster, neh?  Even attempt to kill him and today you’ll be in heaven or hell.’

He looked at her, hating her serene features, seeing her loveliness through his hate.  ‘It’s weak to die like that for no reason.  Stupid’s a better word.’

‘You say you’re Christian.  So you believe in the Jesus child—in God—and in heaven.  Death shouldn’t frighten you.  As to ‘no reason,’ it is up to you to judge the value or nonvalue.  You may have reason enough to die.’

‘I’m in your power.  You know it.  So do I.’

Mariko leaned over and touched him compassionately.  ‘Anjin-san, forget the village.  A thousand million things can happen before those six months occur.  A tidal wave or earthquake, or you get your ship and sail away, or Yabu dies, or we all die, or who knows?  Leave the problems of God to God and karma to karma.  Today you’re here and nothing you can do will change that.  Today you’re alive and here and honored, and blessed with good fortune.  Look at this sunset, it’s beautiful, neh?  This sunset exists.  Tomorrow does not exist.  There is only now.  Please look.  It is so beautiful and it will never happen ever again, never, not this sunset, never in all infinity.  Lose yourself in it, make yourself one with nature and do not worry about karma, yours, mine, or that of the village.’

He found himself beguiled by her serenity, and by her words.  He looked westward.  Great splashes of purple-red and black were spreading across the sky.

He watched the sun until it vanished.

‘I wish you were to be consort,’ he said.

‘I belong to Lord Buntaro and until he is dead I cannot think or say what might be thought or said.’

Karma, thought Blackthorne.

Do I accept karma?  Mine?  Hers?  Theirs?

The night’s beautiful.

And so is she and she belongs to another.

Yes, she’s beautiful.  And very wise:  Leave the problems of God to God and karma to karma.  You did come here uninvited.  You are here.  You are in their power.

But what’s the answer?

The answer will come, he told himself.  Because there’s a God in heaven, a God somewhere.

He heard the tread of feet.  Some flares were approaching up the hill.  Twenty samurai, Omi at their head.

‘I’m sorry, Anjin-san, but Omi-san orders you to give him your pistols.’

‘Tell him to go to hell!’

‘I can’t, Anjin-san.  I dare not.’

Blackthorne kept one hand loosely on the pistol hilt, his eyes on Omi.  He had deliberately remained seated on the veranda steps.  Ten samurai were within the garden behind Omi, the rest near the waiting palanquin.  As soon as Omi had entered uninvited, Fujiko had come from the interior of the house and now stood on the veranda, whitefaced, behind Blackthorne.  ‘Lord Toranaga never objected and for days I’ve been armed around him and Yabu-san.’

Mariko said nervously, ‘Yes, Anjin-san, but please understand, what Omi-san says is true.  It’s our custom that you cannot go into a daimyo‘s presence with arms.  There’s nothing to be af—nothing to concern you.  Yabu-san’s your friend.  You’re his guest here.’

‘Tell Omi-san I won’t give him my guns.’  Then, when she remained silent, Blackthorne’s temper snapped and he shook his head.  ‘Iyé, Omi-san!  Wakarimasu ka?  Iyé!‘

Omi’s face tightened.  He snarled an order.  Two samurai moved forward.  Blackthorne whipped out the guns.  The samurai stopped.  Both guns were pointed directly into Omi’s face.

‘Iyé!‘  Blackthorne said.  And then, to Mariko, ‘Tell him to call them off or I’ll pull the triggers.’

She did so.  No one moved.  Blackthorne got slowly to his feet, the pistols never wavering from their target.  Omi was absolutely still, fearless, his eyes following Blackthorne’s catlike movements.

‘Please, Anjin-san.  This is very dangerous.  You must see Lord Yabu.  You may not go with pistols.  You’re hatamoto, you’re protected and you’re also Lord Yabu’s guest.’

‘Tell Omi-san if he or any of his men come within ten feet of me I’ll blow his head off.’

‘Omi-san says politely, ‘For the last time you are ordered to give me the guns.  Now.”

‘Iyé.‘

‘Why not leave them here, Anjin-san?  There’s nothing to fear.  No one will touch—’

‘You think I’m a fool?’

‘Then give them to Fujiko-san!’

‘What can she do?  He’ll take them from her—anyone’ll take them—then I’m defenseless.’

Mariko’s voice sharpened.  ‘Why don’t you listen, Anjin-san?  Fujiko-san is your consort.  If you order it she’ll protect the guns with her life.  That’s her duty.  I’ll never tell you again, but Toda-noh-Usagi Fujiko is samurai.’

Blackthorne was concentrating on Omi, hardly listening to her.  ‘Tell Omi-san I don’t like orders.  I’m Lord Toranaga’s guest.  I’m Lord Yabu’s guest.  You ‘ask’ guests to do things.  You don’t order them, and you don’t march into a man’s house uninvited.’

Mariko translated this.  Omi listened expressionlessly, then replied shortly, watching the unwavering barrels.

‘He says, ‘I, Kasigi Omi, I would ask for your pistols, and ask you to come with me because Kasigi Yabu-sama orders you into his presence.  But Kasigi Yabu-sama orders me to order you to give me your weapons.  So sorry, Anjin-san, for the last time I order you to give them to me.”

Blackthorne’s chest was constricted.  He knew he was going to be attacked and he was furious at his own stupidity.  But there comes a time when you can’t take any more and you pull a gun or a knife and then blood is spilled through stupid pride.  Most times stupid.  If I’m to die Omi will die first, by God!

He felt very strong though somewhat light-headed.  Then what Mariko said began to ring in his ears:  ‘Fujiko’s samurai, she is your consort!’  And his brain began to function.  ‘Just a moment!  Mariko-san, please say this to Fujiko-san.  Exactly:  ‘I’m going to give you my pistols.  You are to guard them.  No one except me is to touch them.”

Mariko did as he asked, and behind him, he heard Fujiko say, ‘Hai.‘

‘Wakarimasu ka, Fujiko-san?’ he asked her.

‘Wakarimasu, Anjin-san,’ she replied in a thin, nervous voice.

‘Mariko-san, please tell Omi-san I’ll go with him now.  I’m sorry there’s been a misunderstanding.  Yes, I’m sorry there was a misunderstanding.’

Blackthorne backed away, then turned.  Fujiko accepted the guns, perspiration beading her forehead.  He faced Omi and prayed he was right.  ‘Shall we go now?’

Omi spoke to Fujiko and held out his hand.  She shook her head.  He gave a short order.  The two samurai started toward her.  Immediately she shoved one pistol into the sash of her obi, held the other with both hands at arm’s length and leveled it at Omi.  The trigger came back slightly and the striking lever moved.  ‘Ugoku na!‘ she said.  ‘Dozo!‘

The samurai obeyed.  They stopped.

Omi spoke rapidly and angrily and she listened and when she replied her voice was soft and polite but the pistol never moved from his face, the lever half-cocked now, and she ended, ‘Iyé, gomen nasai, Omi-san!’  No, I’m sorry, Omi-san.

Blackthorne waited.

A samurai moved a fraction.  The lever came back dangerously, almost to the top of its arc.  But her arm remained steady.

‘Ugoku na!‘ she ordered.

No one doubted that she would pull the trigger.  Not even Blackthorne.  Omi said something curtly to her and to his men.  They came back.  She lowered the pistol but it was still ready.

‘What did he say?’ Blackthorne asked.

‘Only that he would report this incident to Yabu-san.’

‘Good.  Tell him I will do the same.’  Blackthorne turned to her.  ‘Domo, Fujiko-san.’  Then, remembering the way Toranaga and Yabu talked to women, he grunted imperiously at Mariko.  ‘Come on, Mariko-san . . . ikamasho!‘  He started for the gate.

‘Anjin-san!’ Fujiko called out.

‘Hai?‘  Blackthorne stopped.  Fujiko was bowing to him and spoke quickly to Mariko.

Mariko’s eyes widened, then she nodded and replied, and spoke to Omi, who also nodded, clearly enraged but restraining himself.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Please be patient, Anjin-san.’

Fujiko called out, and there was an answer from within the house.  A maid came onto the veranda.  In her hands were two swords.  Samurai swords.

Fujiko took them reverently, offered them to Blackthorne with a bow, speaking softly.

Mariko said, ‘Your consort rightly points out that a hatamoto is, of course, obliged to wear the two swords of the samurai.  More than that, it’s his duty to do so.  She believes it would not be correct for you to go to Lord Yabu without swords—that it would be impolite.  By our law it’s duty to carry swords.  She asks if you would consider using these, unworthy though they are, until you buy your own.’

Blackthorne stared at her, then at Fujiko and back to her again.  ‘Does that mean I’m samurai?  That Lord Toranaga made me samurai?’

‘I don’t know, Anjin-san.  But there’s never been a hatamoto who wasn’t samurai.  Never.’  Mariko turned and questioned Omi.  Impatiently he shook his head and answered.  ‘Omi-san doesn’t know either.  Certainly it’s the special privilege of a hatamoto to wear swords at all times, even in the presence of Lord Toranaga.  It is his duty because he’s a completely trustworthy bodyguard.  Also only a hatamoto has the right of immediate audience with a lord.’

Blackthorne took the short sword and stuck it in his belt, then the other, the long one, the killing one, exactly as Omi was wearing his.  Armed, he did feel better.  ‘Arigato goziemashita, Fujiko-san,’ he said quietly.

She lowered her eyes and replied softly.  Mariko translated.

‘Fujiko-san says, with permission, Lord, because you must learn our language correctly and quickly, she humbly wishes to point out that ‘domo‘ is more than sufficient for a man to say.  ‘Arigato,‘ with or without ‘goziemashita,‘ is an unnecessary politeness, an expression that only women use.’

‘Hai.  Domo.  Wakarimasu, Fujiko-san.’  Blackthorne looked at her clearly for the first time with his newfound knowledge.  He saw the sweat on her forehead and the sheen on her hands.  The narrow eyes and square face and ferret teeth.  ‘Please tell my consort, in this one case I do not consider ‘arigato goziemashita‘ an unnecessary politeness to her.’

Yabu glanced at the swords again.  Blackthorne was sitting crosslegged on a cushion in front of him in the place of honor, Mariko to one side, Igurashi beside him.  They were in the main room of the fortress.

Omi finished talking.

Yabu shrugged.  ‘You handled it badly, nephew.  Of course it’s the consort’s duty to protect the Anjin-san and his property.  Of course he has the right to wear swords now.  Yes, you handled it badly.  I made it clear the Anjin-san’s my honored guest here.  Apologize to him.’

Immediately Omi got up and knelt in front of Blackthorne and bowed.  ‘I apologize for my error, Anjin-san.’  He heard Mariko say that the barbarian accepted the apology.  He bowed again and calmly went back to his place and sat down again.  But he was not calm inside.  He was now totally consumed by one idea:  the killing of Yabu.

He had decided to do the unthinkable:  kill his liege lord and the head of his clan.

But not because he had been made to apologize publicly to the barbarian.  In this Yabu had been right.  Omi knew he had been unnecessarily inept, for although Yabu had stupidly ordered him to take the pistols away at once tonight, he knew they should have been manipulated away and left in the house, to be stolen later or broken later.

And the Anjin-san had been perfectly correct to give the pistols to his consort, he told himself, just as she was equally correct to do what she did.  And she would certainly have pulled the trigger, her aim true.  It was no secret that Usagi Fujiko sought death, or why.  Omi knew, too, that if it hadn’t been for his earlier decision this morning to kill Yabu, he would have stepped forward into death and then his men would have taken the pistols away from her.  He would have died nobly as she would be ordered into death nobly and men and women would have told the tragic tale for generations.  Songs and poems and even a Nōh play, all so inspiring and tragic and brave, about the three of them:  the faithful consort and faithful samurai who both died dutifully because of the incredible barbarian who came from the eastern sea.

No, Omi’s decision had nothing to do with this public apology, although the unfairness added to the hatred that now obsessed him.  The main reason was that today Yabu had publicly insulted Omi’s mother and wife in front of peasants by keeping them waiting for hours in the sun like peasants, and had then dismissed them without acknowledgment like peasants.

‘It doesn’t matter, my son,’ his mother had said.  ‘It’s his privilege.’

‘He’s our liege Lord,’ Midori, his wife, had said, the tears of shame running down her cheeks.  ‘Please excuse him.’

‘And he didn’t invite either of you to greet him and his officers at the fortress,’ Omi had continued.  ‘At the meal you arranged!  The food and saké alone cost one koku!’

‘It’s our duty, my son.  It’s our duty to do whatever Lord Yabu wants.’

‘And the order about Father?’

‘It’s not an order yet.  It’s a rumor.’

‘The message from Father said he’d heard that Yabu’s going to order him to shave his head and become a priest, or slit his belly open.  Yabu’s wife privately boasts it!’

‘That was whispered to your father by a spy.  You cannot always trust spies.  So sorry, but your father, my son, isn’t always wise.’

‘What happens to you, Mother, if it isn’t a rumor?’

‘Whatever happens is karma.  You must accept karma.‘

‘No, these insults are unendurable.’

‘Please, my son, accept them.’

‘I gave Yabu the key to the ship, the key to the Anjin-san and the new barbarians, and the way out of Toranaga’s trap.  My help has brought him immense prestige.  With the symbolic gift of the sword he’s now second to Toranaga in the armies of the East.  And what have we got in return?  Filthy insults.’

‘Accept your karma.‘

‘You must, husband, I beg you, listen to the Lady, your mother.’

‘I can’t live with this shame.  I will have vengeance and then I will kill myself and these shames will pass from me.’

‘For the last time, my son, accept your karma, I beg you.’

‘My karma is to destroy Yabu.’

The old lady had sighed.  ‘Very well.  You’re a man.  You have the right to decide.  What is to be is to be.  But the killing of Yabu by itself is nothing.  We must plan.  His son must also be removed, and also Igurashi.  Particularly Igurashi.  Then your father will lead the clan as is his right.’

‘How do we do that, Mother?’

‘We will plan, you and I.  And be patient, neh?  Then we must consult with your father.  Midori, even you may give counsel, but try not to make it valueless, neh?‘

‘What about Lord Toranaga?  He gave Yabu his sword.’

‘I think Lord Toranaga only wants Izu strong and a vassal state.  Not as an ally.  He doesn’t want allies any more than the Taikō did.  Yabu thinks he’s an ally.  I think Toranaga detests allies.  Our clan will prosper as Toranaga vassals.  Or as Ishido vassals!  Who to choose, eh?  And how to do the killing?’

Omi remembered the surge of joy that had possessed him once the decision had been made final.

He felt it now.  But none of it showed on his face as cha and wine were offered by carefully selected maids imported from Mishima for Yabu.  He watched Yabu and the Anjin-san and Mariko and Igurashi.  They were all waiting for Yabu to begin.

The room was large and airy, big enough for thirty officers to dine and wine and talk.  There were many other rooms and kitchens for bodyguards and servants, and a skirting garden, and though all were makeshift and temporary, they had been excellently constructed in the time at his disposal and easily defendable.  That the cost had come out of Omi’s increased fief bothered him not at all.  This had been his duty.

He looked through the open shoji.  Many sentries in the forecourt.  A stable.  The fortress was guarded by a ditch.  The stockade was constructed of giant bamboos lashed tightly.  Big central pillars supported the tiled roof.  Walls were light sliding shoji screens, some shuttered, most of them covered with oiled paper as was usual.  Good planks for the flooring were set on pilings raised off beaten earth below and these were covered with tatamis.

At Yabu’s command, Omi had ransacked four villages for materials to construct this and the other house and Igurashi had brought quality tatamis and futons and things unobtainable in the village.

Omi was proud of his work, and the bivouac camp for three thousand samurai had been made ready on the plateau over the hill that guarded the roads that led to the village and to the shore.  Now the village was locked tight and safe by land.  From the sea there would always be plenty of warning for a liege lord to escape.

But I have no liege lord.  Whom shall I serve now, Omi was asking himself.  Ikawa Jukkyu?  Or Toranaga directly?  Would Toranaga give me what I want in return?  Or Ishido?  Ishido’s so difficult to get to, neh?  But much to tell him now. . . .

This afternoon Yabu had summoned Igurashi, Omi, and the four chief captains and had set into motion his clandestine training plan for the five hundred gun-samurai.  Igurashi was to be commander, Omi was to lead one of the hundreds.  They had arranged how to induct Toranaga’s men into the units when they arrived, and how these outlanders were to be neutralized if they proved treacherous.

Omi had suggested that another highly secret cadre of three more units of one hundred samurai each should be trained surreptitiously on the other side of the peninsula as replacements, as a reserve, and as a precaution against a treacherous move by Toranaga.

‘Who’ll command Toranaga’s men?  Who’ll he send as second in command?’ Igurashi had asked.

‘It makes no difference,’ Yabu had said.  ‘I’ll appoint his five assistant officers, who’ll be given the responsibility of slitting his throat, should it be necessary.  The code for killing him and all the outlanders will be ‘Plum Tree.’  Tomorrow, Igurashi-san, you will choose the men.  I will approve each personally and none of them is to know, yet, my overall strategy of the musket regiment.’

Now as Omi was watching Yabu, he savored the newfound ecstasy of vengeance.  To kill Yabu would be easy, but the killing must be coordinated.  Only then would his father or his elder brother be able to assume control of the clan, and Izu.

Yabu came to the point.  ‘Mariko-san, please tell the Anjin-san, tomorrow I want him to start training my men to shoot like barbarians and I want to learn everything there is to know about the way that barbarians war.’

‘But, so sorry, the guns won’t arrive for six days, Yabu-san,’ Mariko reminded him.

‘I’ve enough among my men to begin with,’ Yabu replied.  ‘I want him to start tomorrow.’

Mariko spoke to Blackthorne.

‘What does he want to know about war?’ he asked.

‘He said everything.’

‘What particularly?”

Mariko asked Yabu.

‘Yabu-san says, have you been part of any battles on land?’

‘Yes.  In the Netherlands.  One in France.’

‘Yabu-san says, excellent.  He wants to know European strategy.  He wants to know how battles are fought in your lands.  In detail.’

Blackthorne thought a moment.  Then he said, ‘Tell Yabu-san I can train any number of men for him and I know exactly what he wants to know.’  He had learned a great deal about the way the Japanese warred from Friar Domingo.  The friar had been an expert and vitally concerned.  ‘After all, señor,’ the old man had said, ‘that knowledge is essential, isn’t it to know how the heathen war?  Every Father must protect his flock.  And are not our glorious conquistadores the blessed spearhead of Mother Church?  And haven’t I been with them in the front of the fighting in the New World and the Philippines and studied them for more than twenty years?  I know war, señor, I know war.  It has been my duty—God’s will to know war.  Perhaps God has sent you to me to teach you, in case I die.  Listen, my flock here in this jail have been my teachers about Japan warfare, señor.  So now I know how their armies fight and how to beat them.  How they could beat us.  Remember, señor, I tell thee a secret on thy soul:  Never join Japanese ferocity with modern weapons and modern methods.  Or on land they will destroy us.’

Blackthorne committed himself to God.  And began.  ‘Tell Lord Yabu I can help him very much.  And Lord Toranaga.  I can make their armies unbeatable.’

‘Lord Yabu says, if your information proves useful, Anjin-san, he will increase your salary from Lord Toranaga’s two hundred and forty koku to five hundred koku after one month.’

‘Thank him.  But say, if I do all that for him, I request a favor in return:  I want him to rescind his decree about the village and I want my ship and crew back in five months.’

Mariko said, ‘Anjin-san, you cannot bargain with him, like a trader.’

‘Please ask him.  As a humble favor.  From an honored guest and grateful vassal-to-be.’

Yabu frowned and replied at length.

‘Yabu-san says that the village is unimportant.  The villagers need a fire under their rumps to make them do anything.  You are not to concern yourself with them.  As to the ship, it’s in Lord Toranaga’s care.  He’s sure you’ll get it back soon.  He asked me to put your request to Lord Toranaga the moment I arrive in Yedo.  I’ll do this, Anjin-san.’

‘Please apologize to Lord Yabu, but I must ask him to rescind the decree.  Tonight.’

‘He’s just said no, Anjin-san.  It would not be good manners.’

‘Yes, I understand.  But please ask him again.  It’s very important to me . . . a petition.’

‘He says you must be patient.  Don’t concern yourself with villagers.’

Blackthorne nodded.  Then he decided.  ‘Thank you.  I understand.  Yes.  Please thank Yabu-san but tell him I cannot live with this shame.’

Mariko blanched.  ‘What?’

‘I cannot live with the shame of having the village on my conscience.  I’m dishonored.  I cannot endure this.  It’s against my Christian belief.  I will have to commit suicide at once.’

‘Suicide?’

‘Yes.  That’s what I’ve decided to do.’

Yabu interrupted.  ‘Nan ja, Mariko-san?’

Haltingly she translated what Blackthorne had said.  Yabu questioned her and she answered.  Then Yabu said, ‘If it wasn’t for your reaction this would be a joke, Mariko-san.  Why are you so concerned?  Why do you think he means it?’

‘I don’t know, Sire.  He seems . . . I don’t know. . . .’  Her voice trailed off.

‘Omi-san?’

‘Suicide’s against all Christian beliefs, Sire.  They never suicide as we do.  As a samurai would.’

‘Mariko-san, you’re Christian.  Is that true?’

‘Yes, Sire.  Suicide’s a mortal sin, against the word of God.’

‘Igurashi-san?  What do you think?’

‘It’s a bluff.  He’s no Christian.  Remember the first day, Sire?  Remember what he did to the priest?  And what he allowed Omi-san to do to him to save the boy?’

Yabu smiled, recollecting that day and the night that had followed.  ‘Yes.  I agree.  He’s no Christian, Mariko-san.’

‘So sorry, but I don’t understand, Sire.  What about the priest?’

Yabu told her what had happened the first day between Blackthorne and the priest.

‘He desecrated a cross?’ she said, openly shocked.

‘And threw the pieces into the dust,’ Igurashi added.  ‘It’s all a bluff, Sire.  If this thing with the village dishonors him, how can he stay here when Omi-san so dishonored him by pissing on him?’

‘What? I’m sorry, Sire,’ Mariko said, ‘but again I don’t understand.’

Yabu said to Omi, ‘Explain that to her.’

Omi obeyed.  She was disgusted by what he told her but kept it off her face.

‘Afterwards the Anjin-san was completely cowed, Mariko-san.’  Omi finished, ‘Without weapons he’ll always be cowed.’

Yabu sipped some saké.  ‘Say this to him, Mariko-san:  suicide’s not a barbarian custom.  It’s against his Christian God.  So how can he suicide?’

Mariko translated.  Yabu was watching carefully as Blackthorne replied.

‘The Anjin-san apologizes with great humility, but he says, custom or not, God or not, this shame of the village is too great to bear.  He says that . . . that he’s in Japan, he’s hatamoto and has the right to live according to our laws.’  Her hands were trembling.  ‘That’s what he said, Yabu-san.  The right to live according to our customs—our law.’

‘Barbarians have no rights.’

She said, ‘Lord Toranaga made him hatamoto.  That gives him the right, neh?‘

A breeze touched the shojis, rattling them.

‘How could he commit suicide?  Eh?  Ask him.’

Blackthorne took out the short, needle-sharp sword and placed it gently on the tatami, point facing him.

Igurashi said simply, ‘It’s a bluff!  Who ever heard of a barbarian acting like a civilized person?’

Yabu frowned, his heartbeat slowed by the excitement.  ‘He’s a brave man, Igurashi-san.  No doubt about that.  And strange.  But this?’  Yabu wanted to see the act, to witness the barbarian’s measure, to see how he went into death, to experience with him the ecstasy of the going.  With an effort he stopped the rising tide of his own pleasure.  ‘What’s your counsel, Omi-san?’ he asked throatily.

‘You said to the village, Sire, ‘If the Anjin-san did not learn satisfactorily.‘  I counsel you to make a slight concession.  Say to him that whatever he learns within the five months will be ‘satisfactory,’ but he must, in return, swear by his God never to reveal this to the village.’

‘But he’s not Christian.  How will that oath bind him?’

‘I believe he’s a type of Christian, Sire.  He’s against the Black Robes and that’s what is important.  I believe swearing by his own God will be binding.  And he should also swear, in this God’s name, that he’ll apply his mind totally to learning and totally to your service.  Because he’s clever he will have learned very much in five months.  Thus, your honor is saved, his—if it exists or not—is also saved.  You lose nothing, gain everything.  Very important, you gain his allegiance of his own free will.’

‘You believe he’ll kill himself?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mariko-san?’

‘I don’t know, Yabu-san.  I’m sorry, I cannot advise you.  A few hours ago I would have said, no, he will not commit suicide.  Now I don’t know.  He’s . . . since Omi-san came for him tonight, he’s been . . . different.’

‘Igurashi-san?’

‘If you give in to him now and it’s bluff he’ll use the same trick all the time.  He’s cunning as a fox-kami—we’ve all seen how cunning, neh?  You’ll have to say ‘no’ one day, Sire.  I counsel you to say it now—it’s a bluff.’

Omi leaned forward and shook his head.  ‘Sire, please excuse me, but I must repeat, if you say no you risk a great loss.  If it is a bluff—and it may well be—then as a proud man he will become hate-filled at his further humiliation and he won’t help you to the limit of his being, which you need.  He’s asked for something as a hatamoto which he’s entitled to, he says he wants to live according to our customs of his own free will.  Isn’t that an enormous step forward, Sire?  That’s marvelous for you, and for him.  I counsel caution.  Use him to your advantage.’

‘I intend to,’ Yabu said thickly.

Igurashi said, ‘Yes, he’s valuable and yes, I want his knowledge.  But he’s got to be controlled—you’ve said that many times, Omi-san.  He’s barbarian.  That’s all he is.  Oh, I know he’s hatamoto today and yes, he can wear the two swords from today.  But that doesn’t make him samurai.  He’s not samurai and never will be.’

Mariko knew that of all of them she should be able to read the Anjin-san the most clearly.  But she could not.  One moment she understood him, the next, he was incomprehensible again.  One moment she liked him, the next she hated him.  Why?

Blackthorne’s haunted eyes looked into the distance.  But now there were beads of sweat on his forehead.  Is that from fear? thought Yabu.  Fear that the bluff will be called?  Is he bluffing?

‘Mariko-san?’

‘Yes, Lord?’

‘Tell him . . .’  Yabu’s mouth was suddenly dry, his chest aching.  ‘Tell the Anjin-san the sentence stays.’

‘Sire, please excuse me, but I urge you to accept Omi-san’s advice.’

Yabu did not look at her, only at Blackthorne.  The vein in his forehead pulsed.  ‘The Anjin-san says he’s decided.  So be it.  Let’s see if he’s barbarian or hatamoto.’

Mariko’s voice was almost imperceptible.  ‘Anjin-san, Yabu-san says the sentence stays.  I’m sorry.’

Blackthorne heard the words but they did not disturb him.  He felt stronger and more at peace than he had ever been, with a greater awareness of life than he had ever had.

While he was waiting he had not been listening to them or watching them.  The commitment had been made.  The rest he had left to God.  He had been locked in his own head, hearing the same words over and over, the same that had given him the clue to life here, the words that surely had been sent from God, through Mariko as medium:  ‘There is an easy solution—die.  To survive here you must live according to our customs. . . .’

‘. . . the sentence stays.’

So now I must die.

I should be afraid.  But I’m not.

Why?

I don’t know.  I know only that once I truly decided that the sole way to live here as a man is to do so according to their customs, to risk death, to die—perhaps to die—that suddenly the fear of death was gone.  ‘Life and death are the same . . . Leave karma to karma.‘

I am not afraid to die.

Beyond the shoji, a gentle rain had begun to fall.  He looked down at the knife.

I’ve had a good life, he thought.

His eyes came back to Yabu.  ‘Wakarimasu,‘ he said clearly and though he knew his lips had formed the word it was as though someone else had spoken.

No one moved.

He watched his right hand pick up the knife.  Then his left also grasped the hilt, the blade steady and pointing at his heart.  Now there was only the sound of his life, building and building, soaring louder and louder until he could listen no more.  His soul cried out for eternal silence.

The cry triggered his reflexes.  His hands drove the knife unerringly toward its target.

Omi had been ready to stop him but he was unprepared for the suddenness and ferocity of Blackthorne’s thrust, and as Omi’s left hand caught the blade and his right the haft, pain bit into him and blood spilled from his left hand.  He fought the power of the thrust with all his strength.  He was losing.  Then Igurashi helped.  Together they halted the blow.  The knife was taken away.  A thin trickle of blood ran from the skin over Blackthorne’s heart where the point of the knife had entered.

Mariko and Yabu had not moved.

Yabu said, ‘Say to him, say to him whatever he learns is enough, Mariko-san.  Order him—no, ask him, ask the Anjin-san to swear as Omi-san said.  Everything as Omi-san said.’

Blackthorne came back from death slowly.  He stared at them and the knife from an immense distance, without understanding.  Then the torrent of his life rushed back but he could not grasp its significance, believing himself dead and not alive.

‘Anjin-san?  Anjin-san?’

He saw her lips move and heard her words but all his senses were concentrated on the rain and the breeze.

‘Yes?’  His own voice was still far off but he smelled the rain and heard the droplets and tasted the sea salt upon the air.

I’m alive, he told himself in wonder.  I’m alive and that’s real rain outside and the wind’s real and from the north.  There’s a real brazier with real coals and if I pick up the cup it will have real liquid in it and it will have taste.  I’m not dead.  I’m alive!

The others sat in silence, waiting patiently, gentle with him to honor his bravery.  No man in Japan had ever seen what they had seen.  Each was asking silently, what’s the Anjin-san going to do now?  Will he be able to stand by himself and walk away or will his spirit leave him?  How would I act if I were he?

Silently a servant brought a bandage and bound Omi’s hand where the blade had cut deeply, staunching the flow of blood.  Everything was very still.  From time to time Mariko would say his name quietly as they sipped cha or saké, but very sparingly, savoring the waiting, the watching, and the remembering.

For Blackthorne this no life seemed to last forever.  Then his eyes saw.  His ears heard.

‘Anjin-san?’

‘Hai?‘ he answered through the greatest weariness he had ever known.

Mariko repeated what Omi had said as though it came from Yabu.  She had to say it several times before she was sure that he understood clearly.

Blackthorne collected the last of his strength, victory sweet to him.  ‘My word is enough, as his is enough.  Even so, I’ll swear by God as he wants.  Yes.  As Yabu-san will swear by his god in equal honor to keep his side of the bargain.’

‘Lord Yabu says yes, he swears by the Lord Buddha.’

So Blackthorne swore as Yabu wished him to swear.  He accepted some cha.  Never had it tasted so good.  The cup seemed very heavy and he could not hold it for long.

‘The rain is fine, isn’t it?’ he said, watching the raindrops breaking and vanishing, astonished by the untoward clarity of his vision.

‘Yes,’ she told him gently, knowing that his senses were on a plane never to be reached by one who had not gone freely out to meet death, and, through an unknowing karma, miraculously come back again.

‘Why not rest now, Anjin-san?  Lord Yabu thanks you and says he will talk more with you tomorrow.  You should rest now.’

‘Yes.  Thank you.  That would be fine.’

‘Do you think you can stand?’

‘Yes.  I think so.’

‘Yabu-san asks if you would like a palanquin?’

Blackthorne thought about that.  At length he decided that a samurai would walk—would try to walk.

‘No, thank you,’ he said, as much as he would have liked to lie down, to be carried back, to close his eyes and to sleep instantly.  At the same time he knew he would be afraid to sleep yet, in case this was the dream of after-death and the knife not there on the futon but still buried in the real him, and this hell, or the beginning of hell.

Slowly he took up the knife and studied it, glorying in the real feel.  Then he put it in its scabbard, everything taking so much time.

‘Sorry I’m so slow,’ he murmured.

‘You mustn’t be sorry, Anjin-san.  Tonight you’re reborn.  This is another life, a new life,’ Mariko said proudly, filled with honor for him.  ‘It’s given to few to return.  Do not be sorry.  We know it takes great fortitude.  Most men do not have enough strength left afterwards even to stand.  May I help you?’

‘No.  No, thank you.’

‘It is no dishonor to be helped.  I would be honored to be allowed to help you.’

‘Thank you.  But I—I wish to try.  First.’

But he could not stand at once.  He had to use his hands to get to his knees and then he had to pause to get more strength.  Later he lurched up and almost fell.  He swayed but did not fall.

Yabu bowed.  And Mariko, Omi, and Igurashi.

Blackthorne walked like a drunk for the first few paces.  He clutched a pillar and held on for a moment.  Then he began again.  He faltered, but he was walking away, alone.  As a man.  He kept one hand on the long sword in his belt and his head was high.

Yabu exhaled and drank deeply of the saké.  When he could speak he said to Mariko, ‘Please follow him.  See that he gets home safely.’

‘Yes, Sire.’

When she had gone, Yabu turned on Igurashi.  ‘You-manure-pile fool!’

Instantly Igurashi bowed his head to the mat in penitence.

‘Bluff you said, neh?  Your stupidity almost cost me a priceless treasure.’

‘Yes, Sire, you’re right, Sire.  I beg leave to end my life at once.’

‘That would be too good for you!  Go and live in the stables until I send for you!  Sleep with the stupid horses.  You’re a horse-headed fool!’

‘Yes, Sire.  I apologize, Sire.’

‘Get out!  Omi-san will command the guns now.  Get out!’

The candles flickered and spluttered.  One of the maids spilled the tiniest drop of saké on the small lacquered table in front of Yabu and he cursed her eloquently.  The others apologized at once.  He allowed them to placate him, and accepted more wine.  ‘Bluff?  Bluff, he said.  Fool!  Why do I have fools around me?’

Omi said nothing, screaming with laughter inside.

‘But you’re no fool, Omi-san.  Your counsel’s valuable.  Your fief’s doubled from today.  Six thousand koku.  For next year.  Take thirty ri around Anjiro as your fief.’

Omi bowed to the futon.  Yabu deserves to die, he thought scornfully, he’s so easy to manipulate.  ‘I deserve nothing, Sire.  I was just doing my duty.’

‘Yes.  But a liege lord should reward faithfulness and duty.’  Yabu was wearing the Yoshitomo sword tonight.  It gave him great pleasure to touch it.  ‘Suzu,’ he called to one of the maids.  ‘Send Zukimoto here!’

‘How soon will war begin?’ Omi asked.

‘This year.  Maybe you have six months, perhaps not.  Why?’

‘Perhaps the Lady Mariko should stay more than three days.  To protect you.’

‘Eh?  Why?’

‘She’s the mouth of the Anjin-san.  In half a month—with her—he can train twenty men who can train a hundred who can train the rest.  Then whether he lives or dies doesn’t matter.’

‘Why should he die?’

‘You’re going to call the Anjin-san again, his next challenge or the one after, Sire.  The result may be different next time, who knows?  You may want him to die.’  Both men knew, as Mariko and Igurashi had known, that for Yabu to swear by any god was meaningless and, of course, he had no intention of keeping any promise.  ‘You may want to put pressure on him.  Once you have the information, what good is the carcass?’

‘None.’

‘You need to learn barbarian war strategy but you must do it very quickly.  Lord Toranaga may send for him, so you must have the woman as long as you can.  Half a month should be enough to squeeze his head dry of what he knows, now that you have his complete attention.  You’ll have to experiment, to adapt their methods to our ways.  Yes, it would take at least half a month.  Neh?‘

‘And Toranaga-san?’

‘He will agree, if it’s put correctly to him, Sire.  He must.  The guns are his as well as yours.  And her continuing presence here is valuable in other ways.’

‘Yes,’ Yabu said with satisfaction, for the thought of holding her as hostage had also entered his mind on the ship when he had planned to offer Toranaga as a sacrifice to Ishido.  ‘Toda Mariko should be protected, certainly.  It would be bad if she fell into evil hands.’

‘Yes.  And perhaps she could be the means of controlling Hiro-matsu, Buntaro, and all their clan, even Toranaga.’

‘You draft the message about her.’

Omi said, offhand, ‘My mother heard from Yedo today, Sire.  She asked me to tell you that the Lady Genjiko has presented Toranaga with his first grandson.’

Yabu was at once attentive.  Toranaga’s grandson!  Could Toranaga be controlled through this infant?  The grandson assures Toranaga’s dynasty, neh?  How can I get the infant as hostage?  ‘And Ochiba, the Lady Ochiba?’ he asked.

‘She’s left Yedo with all her entourage.  Three days ago.  By now she’s safe in Lord Ishido’s territory.’

Yabu thought about Ochiba and her sister, Genjiko.  So different!  Ochiba, vital, beautiful, cunning, relentless, the most desirable woman in the Empire and mother of the Heir.  Genjiko, her younger sister, quiet, brooding, flat-faced and plain, with a pitilessness that was legend, even now, that had come down to her from their mother, who was one of Goroda’s sisters.  The two sisters loved each other, but Ochiba hated Toranaga and his brood, as Genjiko detested the Taikō and Yaemon, his son.  Did the Taikō really father Ochiba’s son, Yabu asked himself again, as all daimyos had done secretly for years.  What wouldn’t I give to know the answer to that.  What wouldn’t I give to possess that woman.

‘Now that Lady Ochiba’s no longer hostage in Yedo . . . that could be good and bad,’ Yabu said tentatively.  ‘Neh?‘

‘Good, only good.  Now Ishido and Toranaga must begin very soon.’  Omi deliberately omitted the ‘sama’ from those two names.  ‘The Lady Mariko should stay, for your protection.’

‘See to it.  Draft the message to send to Toranaga.’

Suzu, the maid, knocked discreetly and opened the door.  Zukimoto came into the room.  ‘Sire?’

‘Where are all the gifts I ordered brought from Mishima for Omi-san?’

‘They’re all in the storehouse, Lord.  Here’s the list.  The two horses can be selected from the stables.  Do you want me to do that now?’

‘No.  Omi-san will choose them tomorrow.’  Yabu glanced at the carefully written list:  ‘Twenty kimonos (second quality); two swords; one suit of armor (repaired but in good condition); two horses; arms for one hundred samurai—one sword, helmet, breastplate, bow, twenty arrows and spear for each man (best quality).  Total value:  four hundred and twenty-six koku.  Also the rock called ‘The Waiting Stone’—value:  priceless.’

‘Ah yes,’ he said in better humor, remembering that night.  ‘The rock I found in Kyushu.  You were going to rename it ‘The Waiting Barbarian,’ weren’t you?’

‘Yes, Sire, if it still pleases you,’ Omi said.  ‘But would you honor me tomorrow by deciding where it should go in the garden?  I don’t think there’s a place good enough.’

‘Tomorrow I’ll decide.  Yes.’  Yabu let his mind rest on the rock, and on those far-off days with his revered master, the Taikō, and last on the Night of the Screams.  Melancholy seeped into him.  Life is so short and sad and cruel, he thought.  He eyed Suzu.  The maid smiled back hesitantly, oval-faced, slender, and very delicate like the other two.  The three had been brought by palanquin from his household in Mishima.  Tonight they were all barefoot, their kimonos the very best silk, their skins very white.  Curious that boys can be so graceful, he pondered, in many ways more feminine, more sensuous than girls are.  Then he noticed Zukimoto.  ‘What’re you waiting for?  Eh?  Get out!’

‘Yes, Sire.  You asked me to remind you about taxes, Sire.’  Zukimoto heaved up his sweating bulk and gratefully hurried away.

‘Omi-san, you will double all taxes at once,’ Yabu said.

‘Yes, Sire.’

‘Filthy peasants! They don’t work hard enough. They’re lazy – all of them! I keep the roads safe from bandits, the seas safe, give them good government, and what do they do? They spend the days drinking cha and sake and eating rice. It’s time my peasants lived up to their responsibility!’

‘Yes, Sire,’ Omi said.

Next, Yabu turned to the subject that possessed his mind.  ‘The Anjin-san astonished me tonight.  But not you?’

‘Oh yes he did, Sire.  More than you.  But you were wise to make him commit himself.’

‘You say Igurashi was right?’

‘I merely admired your wisdom, Sire.  You would have had to say ‘no’ to him some time.  I think you were very wise to say it now, tonight.’

‘I thought he’d killed himself.  Yes.  I’m glad you were ready.  I planned on you being ready.  The Anjin-san’s an extraordinary man, for a barbarian, neh?  A pity he’s barbarian and so naive.’

‘Yes.’

Yabu yawned.  He accepted saké from Suzu.  ‘Half a month, you say?  Mariko-san should stay at least that, Omi-san.  Then I’ll decide about her, and about him.  He’ll need to be taught another lesson soon.’  He laughed, showing his bad teeth.  ‘If the Anjin-san teaches us, we should teach him, neh?  He should be taught how to commit seppuku correctly.  That’d be something to watch, neh?  See to it!  Yes, I agree the barbarian’s days are numbered.’