Shōgun (The Asian Saga Book 1)

They came to Yokosé by noon.  Buntaro had already intercepted Zataki the previous evening and, as Toranaga had ordered, had welcomed him with great formality.  ‘I asked him to camp outside the village, to the north, Sire, until the meeting place could be prepared,’ Buntaro said.  ‘The formal meeting’s to take place here this afternoon, if it pleases you.’  He added humorlessly, ‘I thought the Hour of the Goat would be auspicious.’

‘Good.’

‘He wanted to meet you tonight but I overruled that.  I told him you’d be ‘honored’ to meet today or tomorrow, whichever he wished, but not after dark.’

Toranaga grunted approval but did not yet dismount from his lathered horse.  He wore a breastplate, helmet, and light bamboo armor, like his equally travel-stained escort.  Again he looked around carefully.  The clearing had been well chosen with no chance for ambush.  There were no trees or houses within range that could hide archers or musketeers.  Just east of the village the land was flat and somewhat higher.  North, west, and south were guarded by the village and by the wooden bridge that spanned the fast-flowing river.  Here at the narrows the water was swirling and rock-infested.  Eastward, behind him and his weary, sweated riders, the track climbed steeply up the pass to the misted crest, five ri away.  Mountains towered all around, many volcanic, and most with their peaks sleeping in the overcast.  In the center of the clearing a twelve-mat dais had been especially erected on low pilings.  A tall rush canopy covered it.  Haste did not show in the craftsmanship.  Two brocade cushions faced each other on the tatamis.

‘I’ve men there, there, and there,’ Buntaro continued, pointing with his bow at all the overlooking outcrops.  ‘You can see for many ri in all directions, Sire.  Good defensive positions—the bridge and the whole village are covered.  Eastward your retreat’s secured by more men.  Of course, the bridge is locked tight with sentries and I’ve left an ‘honor guard’ of a hundred men at his camp.’

‘Lord Zataki’s there now?’

‘No, Sire.  I selected an inn for him and his equerries on the outskirts of the village, to the north, worthy of his rank, and invited him to enjoy the baths there.  That inn’s isolated and secured.  I implied you’d be going on to Shuzenji Spa tomorrow and he’d be your guest.’  Buntaro indicated a neat, single-story inn on the edge of the clearing that faced the best view, near to a hot spring that bubbled from the rock into a natural bath.  ‘That inn’s yours, Sire.’  In front of the inn was a group of men, all on their knees, their heads very low, bowing motionlessly toward them.  ‘They’re the headman and village elders.  I didn’t know if you wanted to see them at once.’

‘Later.’  Toranaga’s horse neighed wearily and cast its head about, the bridles jingling.  He gentled him, and now completely satisfied with the security, he signed to his men and dismounted.  One of Buntaro’s samurai caught his reins—the samurai, like Buntaro and all of them, armored, battle-armed, and ready.

Toranaga stretched gratefully and limbered up to ease the cramped muscles in his back and legs.  He had led the way from Anjiro in a single forced march, stopping only to change mounts.  The rest of the baggage train under Omi’s command—palanquins and bearers—was still far behind, strung out on the road that came down from the crest.  The road from Anjiro had snaked along the coast, then branched.  They had taken the west road inland and climbed steadily through luxuriant forests teeming with game, Mount Omura to their right, the peaks of the volcanic Amagi Range on their left soaring almost five thousand feet.  The ride had exhilarated him—at last some action!  Part of the journey had been through such good hawking country that he promised himself, one day, he would hunt all Izu.

‘Good.  Yes, very good,’ he said over the bustle of his men dismounting and chattering and sorting themselves out.  ‘You’ve done well.’

‘If you want to honor me, Sire, I beg you to allow me to obliterate Lord Zataki and his men at once.’

‘He insulted you?’

‘No—on the contrary—his manners were worthy of a courtier, but the flag he travels under’s a treason against you.’

‘Patience.  How often do I have to tell you?’ Toranaga said, not unkindly.

‘I’m afraid forever, Sire,’ Buntaro replied gruffly.  ‘Please excuse me.’

‘You used to be his friend.’

‘He used to be your ally.’

‘He saved your life at Odawara.’

‘We were on the same side at Odawara,’ Buntaro said bleakly, then burst out, ‘How can he do this to you, Sire?  Your own brother!  Haven’t you favored him, fought on the same side—all his life?’

‘People change.’  Toranaga put his full attention on the dais.  Delicate silk curtains had been hung from the rafters over the platform for decoration.  Ornamental brocade tassels that matched the cushions made a pleasing frieze and larger ones were on the four corner posts.  ‘It’s much too rich and gives the meeting too much importance,’ he said.  ‘Make it simple.  Remove the curtains, all the tassels and cushions, return them to the merchants, and if they won’t give the quartermaster back the money, tell him to sell them.  Get four cushions, not two—simple, chaff-filled.’

‘Yes, Sire.’

Toranaga’s gaze fell on the spring and he wandered over to it.  The water, steaming and sulphurous, hissed as it came from a cleft in the rocks.  His body ached for a bath.  ‘And the Christian?’ he asked.

‘Sire?’

‘Tsukku-san, the Christian priest?’

‘Oh him!  He’s somewhere in the village, but the other side of the bridge.  He’s forbidden this side without your permission.  Why?  Is it important?  He said something about how he’d be honored to see you, when convenient.  Do you want him here now?’

‘Was he alone?’

Buntaro’s lip curled.  ‘No.  He had an escort of twenty acolytes, all tonsured like him—all Kyushu men, Sire, all wellborn and all samurai.  All well mounted but no weapons.  I had them searched.  Thoroughly.’

‘And him?’

‘Of course him—him more than any.  There were four carrier pigeons among his luggage.  I confiscated them.’

‘Good.  Destroy them. . . . Some fool did it in error, so sorry, neh?‘

‘I understand.  You want me to send for him now?’

‘Later.  I’ll see him later.’

Buntaro frowned.  ‘Was it wrong to search him?’

Toranaga shook his head, and absently looked back at the crest, lost in thought.  Then he said, ‘Send a couple of men we can trust to watch the Musket Regiment.’

‘I’ve already done that, Sire.’  Buntaro’s face lit up with grim satisfaction.  ‘And Lord Yabu’s personal guards contain some of our ears and eyes.  He won’t be able to fart without your knowing it, if that’s your wish.’

‘Good.’  The head of the baggage train, still far distant, rounded a bend in the curling track.  Toranaga could see the three palanquins, Omi mounted in the lead as ordered, the Anjin-san beside him now, also riding easily.

He turned his back on them.  ‘I’ve brought your wife with me.’

‘Yes, Sire.’

‘She’s asking my permission to go to Osaka.’

Buntaro stared at him, but said nothing.  Then he squinted back at the barely discernible figures.

‘I gave her my approval—providing, of course, that you also approve.’

‘Whatever you approve, Sire, I approve,’ Buntaro said.

‘I can allow her to go by land from Mishima or she can accompany the Anjin-san to Yedo, and go by sea to Osaka from there.  The Anjin-san’s agreed to be responsible for her—if you approve.’

‘It would be safer by sea.’ Buntaro was smoldering.

‘This all depends on Lord Zataki’s message.  If Ishido’s formally declared war on me, then of course I must forbid it.  If not, your wife can go on tomorrow or the day after, if you approve.’

‘Whatever you decide I agree to.’

‘This afternoon pass over your duties to Naga-san.  This is a good moment to make peace between you and your wife.’

‘Please excuse me, Sire.  I should stay with my men.  I beg you to leave me with my men.  Until you’re safely away.’

‘Tonight you will pass over your duties to my son.  You and your wife will join me at my evening meal.  You will stay at the inn.  You will make a peace.’

Buntaro stared at the ground.  Then he said, even more stonily, ‘Yes, Sire.’

‘You’re ordered to attempt a peace,’ said Toranaga.  He was in a mind to add ‘an honorable peace is better than war, neh?‘  But that wasn’t true and might have begun a philosophic argument and he was tired and wanted no arguments, just a bath and a rest.  ‘Now fetch the headman!’

The headman and elders fell over themselves in their haste to bow before him, welcoming him in the most extravagant way.  Toranaga told them bluntly that the bill they would present to his quartermaster when he left would of course be fair and reasonable.  ‘Neh?‘

‘Hai,‘ they chorused humbly, blessing the gods for their unexpected good fortune and the fat pickings that this visit would inevitably bring them.  With many more bows and compliments, saying how proud and honored they were to be allowed to serve the greatest daimyo in the Empire, the sprightly old headman ushered him into the inn.

Toranaga inspected it completely through coveys of bowing, smiling maids of all ages, the pick of the village.  There were ten rooms around a nondescript garden with a small cha house in the center, kitchens in the back, and to the west, nestling the rocks, a large bath house fed from the living springs.  The whole inn was neatly fenced—a covered walk led to the bath—and it was easy to defend.

‘I don’t need the whole inn, Buntaro-san,’ he said, standing again on the veranda.  ‘Three rooms will be sufficient—one for myself, one for the Anjin-san, and one for the women.  You take a fourth.  There’s no need to pay for the rest.’

‘My quartermaster tells me he made a very good arrangement for the whole inn, Sire, day by day, better than half price, and it’s still out of season.  I approved the cost because of your security.’

‘Very well,’ Toranaga agreed reluctantly.  ‘But I want to see the bill before we leave.  There’s no need to waste money.  You’d better fill the rooms with guards, four to a room.’

‘Yes, Sire.’  Buntaro had already decided to do that.  He watched Toranaga stride off with two personal guards, surrounded by four of the prettiest maids, to go to his room in the east wing.  Dully, he was wondering, what women?  What women needed the room?  Fujiko?  Never mind, he thought tiredly, I’ll know soon enough.

A maid fluttered past.  She smiled brightly at him and he smiled back mechanically.  She was young and pretty and soft-skinned and he had pillowed with her last night.  But the joining had given him no pleasure and though she was deft and enthusiastic and well-trained, his lust soon vanished—he had never felt desire for her.  Eventually, for the sake of good manners, he had pretended to reach the pinnacle, as she had pretended, and then she had left him.

Still brooding, he walked out of the courtyard to stare up at the road.

Why Osaka?

At the Hour of the Goat the sentries on the bridge stood aside.  The cortege began to cross.  First were heralds carrying banners bedecked with the all-powerful cipher of the Regents, then the rich palanquin, and finally more guards.

Villagers bowed.  All were on their knees, secretly agog at such richness and pomp.  The headman had cautiously asked if he should assemble all their people to honor the occasion.  Toranaga had sent a message that those who were not working could watch, with their masters’ permission.  So the headman, with even more care, had selected a deputation that included mostly the old and the obedient young, just enough to make a show—though every adult would have liked to be present—but not enough to go against the great daimyo’s orders.  All who could were watching surreptitiously from vantage points in windows and doors.

Saigawa Zataki, Lord of Shinano, was taller than Toranaga, and younger by five years, with the same breadth of shoulders and prominent nose.  But his stomach was flat, the stubble of his beard black and heavy, his eyes mere slits in his face.  Though there seemed to be an uncanny resemblance between the half brothers when they were apart, now that they were together they were quite dissimilar.  Zataki’s kimono was rich, his armor glittering and ceremonial, his swords well used.

‘Welcome, brother.’  Toranaga stepped off the dais and bowed.  He wore the simplest of kimonos and soldier’s straw sandals.  And swords.  ‘Please excuse me for receiving you so informally, but I came as quickly as I could.’

‘Please excuse me for disturbing you.  You look well, brother.  Very well.’  Zataki got out of the palanquin and bowed in return, beginning the interminable, meticulous formalities of the ceremonial that now ruled both of them.

‘Please take this cushion, Lord Zataki.’

‘Please excuse me, I would be honored if you would be seated first, Lord Toranaga.’

‘You’re so kind.  But please, honor me by sitting first.’

They continued playing the game that they had played so many times before, with each other and with friends and enemies, climbing the ladder of power, enjoying the rules that governed each movement and each phrase, that protected their individual honor so that neither could ever make a mistake and endanger himself or his mission.

At length they were seated opposite each other on the cushions, two sword lengths away.  Buntaro was behind and to the left of Toranaga.  Zataki’s chief aide, an elderly gray-haired samurai, was behind and to his left.  Around the dais, twenty paces away, were seated ranks of Toranaga samurai, all deliberately still costumed in the clothing they’d journeyed in, but their weapons in perfect condition.  Omi was seated on the earth at the edge of the dais, Naga at the opposite side.  Zataki’s men were dressed formally and richly, their vast, wing-shouldered overmantles belted with silver buckles.  But they were equally well armed.  They settled themselves, also twenty paces away.

Mariko served ceremonial cha and there was innocuous, formal conversation between the two brothers.  At the correct time Mariko bowed and left, Buntaro achingly aware of her and vastly proud of her grace and beauty.  And then, too soon, Zataki said brusquely, ‘I bring orders from the Council of Regents.’

A sudden hush fell on the square.  Everyone, even his own men, was aghast at Zataki’s lack of manners, at the insolent way he had said ‘orders’ and not ‘message,’ and at his failure to wait for Toranaga to ask, ‘How can I be of service?’ as ceremonial demanded.

Naga shot a quick glance away from Zataki’s sword arm to his father.  He saw the flush on Toranaga’s neck that was an infallible sign of impending explosion.  But Toranaga’s face was tranquil, and Naga was amazed as he heard the controlled reply:  ‘So sorry, you have orders?  For whom, Brother?  Surely you have a message?’

Zataki ripped two small scrolls out of his sleeve.  Buntaro’s hand almost flashed for his waiting sword at the unexpected suddenness, for ritual called for all movements to be slow and deliberate.  Toranaga had not moved.

Zataki broke the seal of the first scroll and read in a loud, chilling voice:  ‘By order of the Council of Regents, in the name of Emperor Go-Niji, the Son of Heaven:  We greet our illustrious vassal Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Minowara and invite him to make obeisance before us in Osaka forthwith, and invite him to inform our illustrious ambassador, the Regent, Lord Saigawa Zataki, if our invitation is accepted or refused—forthwith.’

He looked up and in an equally loud voice continued, ‘It’s signed by all Regents and sealed with the Great Seal of the Realm.’  Haughtily he placed the scroll in front of him.  Toranaga signaled to Buntaro, who went forward, bowed low to Zataki, picked up the scroll, turned to Toranaga, bowed again.  Toranaga accepted the scroll, and motioned Buntaro back to his place.

Toranaga studied the scroll interminably.

‘All the signatures are genuine,’ Zataki said.  ‘Do you accept or refuse?’

In a subdued voice, so that only those on the dais and Omi and Naga could hear him, Toranaga said, ‘Why shouldn’t I take your head for your foul manners?’

‘Because I’m my mother’s son,’ Zataki replied.

‘That won’t protect you if you continue this way.’

‘Then she’ll die before her time.’

”What?’

‘The Lady, our mother, is in Takato.’  Takato was the landlocked, impregnable fortress and capital city of Shinano, Zataki’s province.  ‘I regret her body will stay there forever.’

‘Bluff!  You honor her as much as I do.’

‘On her immortal spirit, Brother, as much as I honor her, I detest what you’re doing to the realm even more.’

‘I seek no more territory and no—’

‘You seek to overthrow the succession.’

‘Wrong again, and I’ll always protect my nephew from traitors.’

‘You seek the Heir’s downfall, that is what I believe, so I’ve decided to stay alive and lock Shinano and the northern route against you, whatever the cost, and I’ll continue to do that until the Kwanto’s in friendly hands—whatever the cost.‘

‘In your hands, Brother?’

‘Any safe hands—which excludes yours.  Brother.’

‘You trust Ishido?’

‘I trust no one, you’ve taught me that.  Ishido’s Ishido, but his loyalty’s unquestioned.  Even you’ll admit that.’

‘I’ll admit that Ishido’s trying to destroy me and split the realm, that he’s usurped power and that he’s breaking the Taikō’s will.’

‘But you did plot with Lord Sugiyama to wreck the Council of Regents.  Neh?‘

The vein in Zataki’s forehead was throbbing like a black worm.  ‘What can you say?  One of his counselors admitted the treason:  that you plotted with Sugiyama for him to accept Lord Ito in your place, then to resign the day before the first meeting and escape by night, and so throw the realm into confusion.  I heard the confession—Brother. ‘

‘Were you one of the murderers?’

Zataki flushed.  ‘Overzealous ronin killed Sugiyama, not I, nor any of Ishido’s men!’

‘Curious that you took his place as Regent so quickly, neh?‘

‘No.  My lineage is as ancient as yours.  But I didn’t order the death, nor did Ishido—he swore it on his honor as a samurai.  So do I.  Ronin killed Sugiyama, but he deserved to die.’

‘By torture, dishonored in a filthy cellar, his children and consorts hacked up in front of him?’

‘That’s a rumor spread by filthy malcontents—perhaps by your spies—to discredit Lord Ishido and through him the Lady Ochiba and the Heir.  There’s no proof of that.’

‘Look at their bodies.’

‘The ronin set fire to the house.  There are no bodies.’

‘So convenient, neh?  How can you be so gullible?  You’re not a stupid peasant!’

‘I refuse to sit here and listen to this manure.  Give me your answer now.  And then either take my head and she dies or let me go.’  Zataki leaned forward.  ‘Within moments of my head leaving my shoulders, ten carrier pigeons will be racing north for Takato.  I have trustworthy men north, east, and west, a day’s march away, out of your reach, and if they fail there are more in safety across your borders.  If you take my head or have me assassinated or if I die in Izu—whatever the reason—she dies also.  Now, either take my head or let’s finish the giving of the scrolls and I’ll leave Izu at once.  Choose!’

‘Ishido murdered Lord Sugiyama.  In time I can get you proof.  That’s important, neh?  I only need a little—’

‘You’ve no more time!  Forthwith, the message said.  Of course you refuse to obey, good, so it’s done.  Here.’  Zataki put the second scroll on the tatamis.  ‘Here’s your formal impeachment and order to commit seppuku, which you’ll treat with equal contempt—may Lord Buddha forgive you!  Now everything’s done.  I’ll leave at once, and the next time we meet will be on a battlefield and by the Lord Buddha, before sunset on the same day, I’ve promised myself I’ll see your head on a spike.’

Toranaga kept his eyes on his adversary.  ‘Lord Sugiyama was your friend and mine.  Our comrade, as honorable a samurai as ever lived.  The truth about his death should be of importance to you.’

‘Yours has more importance, Brother.’

‘Ishido’s sucked you in like a starving infant at its mother’s tit.’

Zataki turned to his counselor.  ‘On your honor as a samurai, have I posted men and what is the message?’

The gray-haired, dignified old samurai, chief of Zataki’s confidants and well known to Toranaga as an honorable man, felt sickened and ashamed by the blatant display of hatred, as was everyone within hearing.  ‘So sorry, Lord,’ he said in a choked whisper, bowing to Toranaga, ‘but my Master is of course telling the truth.  How could this be questioned?  And, please excuse me, but it is my duty, with all honor and humility, to point out to both of you that such . . . such astonishing and shameful lack of politeness between you is not worthy of your rank or the solemnity of this occasion.  If your vassals—if they could have heard—I doubt if either of you could have held them back.  You forget your duty as samurai and your duty to your men.  Please excuse me’—he bowed to both of them—’but it had to be said.’  Then he added, ‘All messages were the same, Lord Toranaga, and under the official seal of Lord Zataki:  ‘Put the Lady, my mother, to death at once.”

‘How can I prove I’m not trying to overthrow the Heir?’ Toranaga asked his brother.

‘Immediately abdicate all your titles and power to your son and heir, Lord Sudara, and commit seppuku today.  Then I and all my men—to the last man—will support Sudara as Lord of the Kwanto.’

‘I’ll consider what you’ve said.’

‘Eh?’

‘I’ll consider what you’ve said.’ Toranaga repeated it more firmly.  ‘We’ll meet tomorrow at this time, if it pleases you.’

Zataki’s face twisted.  ‘Is this another of your tricks?  What’s there to meet about?’

‘About what you said, and about this.’  Toranaga held up the scroll that was in his hand.  ‘I’ll give you my answer tomorrow.’

‘Buntaro-san!’  Zataki motioned at the second scroll.  ‘Please give this to your master.’

‘No!’  Toranaga’s voice reverberated around the clearing.  Then, with great ceremony, he added loudly, ‘I am honored formally to accept the Council’s message and will submit my answer to their illustrious ambassador, my brother, the Lord of Shinano, tomorrow at this time.’

Zataki stared at him suspiciously.  ‘What possible ans—’

‘Please excuse me, Lord,’ the old samurai interrupted quietly with grave dignity, again keeping the conversation private, ‘so sorry, but Lord Toranaga is perfectly correct to suggest this.  It is a solemn choice you have given him, a choice not contained in the scrolls.  It is fair and honorable that he should be given the time he requires.’

Zataki picked up the second scroll and shoved it back into his sleeve.  ‘Very well.  I agree.  Lord Toranaga, please excuse my bad manners.  Lastly, please tell me where Kasigi Yabu is?  I’ve a scroll for him.  Only one in his case.’

‘I’ll send him to you.’

The falcon closed her wings and fell a thousand feet out of the evening sky and smashed into the fleeing pigeon with a burst of feathers, then caught it in her talons and carried it earthward, still falling like a stone, and then, a few feet off the ground, she released her now dead prey, braked frantically and landed on it perfectly.  ‘Ekek-ek-eeekk!‘ she shrieked, fluttering her neck feathers in pride, her talons ripping off the pigeon’s head in her ecstasy of conquest.

Toranaga, with Naga as his equerry, galloped up.  The daimyo slid off his horse.  He called her gently to fist.  Obediently she stepped up onto his glove.  At once she was rewarded with a morsel of flesh from a previous kill.  He slipped on her hood, tightening the thongs with his teeth.  Naga picked up the pigeon and put it into the half-full game bag that hung from his father’s saddle, then turned and beckoned to the distant beaters and guards.

Toranaga got back into the saddle, the falcon comfortably on his glove, held by her thin leather jesses.  He looked up into the sky, measuring the light still remaining.

In the late afternoon the sun had broken through, and now in the valley, the day dying fast, the sun long since bedded by the western crest, it was cool and pleasant.  The clouds were northward, pushed there by the dominant wind, hovering over the mountain peaks and hiding many.  At this altitude, land-locked, the air was clean and sweet.

‘We should have a good day tomorrow, Naga-san.  Cloudless, I’d imagine.  I think I’ll hunt with the dawn.’

‘Yes, Father.’  Naga watched him, perplexed, afraid to ask questions as always, yet wanting to know everything.  He could not fathom how his father could be so detached after such a hideous meeting.  To bow Zataki away with the due ceremony then, at once, to summon his hawks and beaters and guards and halloo them away to the rolling hills beyond the forest, seemed to Naga to be an unearthly display of self-control.  Just the thought of Zataki made Naga’s flesh crawl now, and he knew that the old counselor was right:  if one tenth of the conversation had been overheard, samurai would have leapt to defend their lord’s honor.  If it weren’t for the threat that hung over his revered grandmother’s head, he would have rushed at Zataki himself.  I suppose that’s why my father is what he is, and is where he is, he thought. . . .

His eyes picked out horsemen breaking from the forest below and galloping up toward them over the rolling foothills.  Beyond the dark green of the forest, the river was a twisted ribbon of black.  The lights in the inns blinked like fireflies.  ‘Father!’

‘Eh?  Ah Yes, I see them now.  Who are they?’

‘Yabu-san, Omi-san and . . . eight guards.’

‘Your eyes are better than mine.  Ah yes, now I recognize them.’

Naga said without thinking, ‘I wouldn’t have let Yabu-san go alone to Lord Zataki without—’  He stopped and stuttered, ‘Please excuse me.’

‘Why wouldn’t you have sent Yabu-san alone?’

Naga cursed himself for opening his mouth and quailed under Toranaga’s gaze.  ‘Please excuse me, because then I’d never know what secret arrangement they would have made.  He could, Father, easily.  I would have kept them apart—please excuse me.  I don’t trust him.’

‘If Yabu-san and Zataki-san plan treachery behind my back, they’ll do it whether I send a witness or not.  Sometimes it’s wiser to give a quarry extra line—that’s how to catch a fish, neh?‘

‘Yes, please excuse me.’

Toranaga realized that his son didn’t understand, would never understand, would always be merely a hawk to hurl at an enemy, swift, sharp, and deadly.

‘I’m glad you understand, my son,’ he said to encourage him, knowing his good qualities, and valuing them.  ‘You’re a good son,’ he added, meaning it.

‘Thank you, Father,’ Naga said, filled with pride at the rare compliment.  ‘I only hope you’ll forgive my stupidities and teach me to serve you better.’

‘You’re not stupid.’  Yabu’s stupid, Toranaga almost added.  The less people know the better, and it’s not necessary to stretch your mind, Naga.  You’re so young—my youngest but for your half brother, Tadateru.  How old is he?  Ah, seven, yes, he’d be seven.

He watched the approaching horsemen a moment.  ‘How’s your mother, Naga?’

‘As always, the happiest lady in the world.  She’ll still only let me see her once a year.  Can’t you persuade her to change?’

‘No,’ said Toranaga.  ‘She’ll never change.’

Toranaga always felt a glow when he thought of Chano-Tsuboné, his eighth official consort and Naga’s mother.  He laughed to himself as he remembered her earthy humor, her dimpled cheeks and saucy bottom, the way she wriggled and the enthusiasm of her pillowing.

She had been the widow of a farmer near Yedo who had attracted him twenty years ago.  She had stayed with him three years, then asked to be allowed to return to the land.  He had allowed her to go.  Now she lived on a good farm near where she was born—fat and content, a dowager Buddhist nun honored by all and beholden to none.  Once in a while he would go to see her and they would laugh together, without reason, friends.

‘Ah, she’s a good woman,’ Toranaga said.

Yabu and Omi rode up and dismounted.  Ten paces away they stopped and bowed.

‘He gave me a scroll,’ Yabu said, enraged, brandishing it.  ‘. . . We invite you to leave Izu at once for Osaka, today, and present yourself at Osaka Castle for an audience, or all your lands are now forfeit and you are hereby declared outlaw.”  He crushed the scroll in his fist and threw it on the ground.  ‘Today!’

‘Then you’d better leave at once,’ Toranaga said, suddenly in a foul humor at Yabu’s truculence and stupidity.

‘Sire, I beg you,’ Omi began hastily, dropping abjectly to his knees, ‘Lord Yabu’s your devoted vassal and I beg you humbly not to taunt him.  Forgive me for being so rude, but Lord Zataki . . . Forgive me for being so rude.’

‘Yabu-san, please excuse the remark—it was meant kindly,’ Toranaga said, cursing his lapse.  ‘We should all have a sense of humor about such messages, neh?‘  He called up his falconer, gave him the bird from his fist, dismissed him and the beaters.  Then he waved all samurai except Naga out of earshot, squatting on his haunches, and bade them do the same.  ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me what happened.’

Yabu said, ‘There’s almost nothing to tell.  I went to see him.  He received me with the barest minimum of courtesy.  First there were ‘greetings’ from Lord Ishido and a blunt invitation to ally myself secretly with him, to plan your immediate assassination, and to murder every Toranaga samurai in Izu.  Of course I refused to listen, and at once—at once—without any courtesy whatsoever, he handed me that!’  His finger stabbed belligerently toward the scroll.  ‘If it hadn’t been for your direct order protecting him I’d have hacked him to pieces at once!  I demand you rescind that order.  I cannot live with this shame.  I must have revenge!’

‘Is that everything that happened?’

‘Isn’t that enough?’

Toranaga passed over Yabu’s rudeness and scowled at Omi.  ‘You’re to blame, neh?  Why didn’t you have the intelligence to protect your Lord better?  You’re supposed to be an adviser.  You should have been his shield.  You should have drawn Lord Zataki into the open, tried to find out what Ishido had in mind, what the bribe was, what plans they had.  You’re supposed to be a valued counselor.  You’re given a perfect opportunity and you waste it like an unpracticed dullard!’

Omi bent his head.  ‘Please excuse me, Sire.’

‘I might, but I don’t see why Lord Yabu should.  Now your lord’s accepted the scroll.  Now he’s committed.  Now he has to act one way or the other.’

‘What?’ said Yabu.

‘Why else do you think I did what I did?  To delay—of course, to delay,’ said Toranaga.

‘But one day?  What’s the value of one day?’ Yabu asked.

‘Who knows?  A day for you is one less for the enemy.’  Toranaga’s eyes snapped back to Omi.  ‘Was the message from Ishido verbal or in writing?’

Yabu answered instead.  ‘Verbal, of course.’

Toranaga kept his penetrating gaze on Omi.  ‘You’ve failed in your duty to your lord and to me.’

‘Please excuse—’

‘What exactly did you say?’

Omi did not reply.

‘Have you forgotten your manners as well?  What did you say?’

‘Nothing, Sire.  I said nothing.’

‘What?’

Yabu blustered, ‘He said nothing to Zataki because he wasn’t present.  Zataki asked to speak to me alone.’

‘Oh?’  Toranaga hid his glee that Yabu had had to admit what he had already surmised and that part of the truth was now in the open.  ‘Please excuse me, Omi-san.  I naturally presumed you were present.’

‘It was my error, Sire.  I should have insisted.  You’re correct, I failed to protect my Lord,’ Omi said.  ‘I should have been more forceful.  Please excuse me.  Yabu-sama, please excuse me.’

Before Yabu could answer, Toranaga said, ‘Of course you’re forgiven, Omi-san.  If your lord overruled you, that’s his privilege.  You did overrule him, Yabu-sama?’

‘Yes—yes, but I didn’t think it mattered.  You think I . . .’

‘Well, the harm’s done now.  What do you plan to do?’

‘Of course, dismiss the message for what it is, Sire.’  Yabu was disquieted.  ‘You think I could have avoided taking it?’

‘Of course.  You could have negotiated with him for a day.  Maybe more.  Weeks even,’ Toranaga added, turning the knife deeper into the wound, maliciously delighted that Yabu’s own stupidity had thrust him onto the hook, and not at all concerned with the treachery Yabu had undoubtedly been bribed into, cajoled into, flattered into, or frightened into.  ‘So sorry, but you’re committed.  Never mind, it’s as you said, ‘The sooner everyone chooses sides the better.”  He got up.  ‘There’s no need to go back to the regiment tonight.  Both of you join me at the evening meal.  I’ve arranged an entertainment.’  For everyone, he added under his breath, with a great deal of satisfaction.

Kiku’s skillful fingers strummed a chord, the plectrum held firmly.  Then she began to sing and the purity of her voice filled the hushed night.  They sat spellbound in the large room that was open to the veranda and the garden beyond, entranced by the extraordinary effect she made under the flickering torches, the gold threads of her kimono catching the light as she leaned over the samisen.

Toranaga glanced around momentarily, aware of the night currents.  On one side of him, Mariko sat between Blackthorne and Buntaro.  On the other, Omi and Yabu, side by side.  The place of honor was still empty.  Zataki had been invited, but of course he had regretfully declined due to ill health, though he had been seen galloping the northern hills and was presently pillowing with his legendary strength.  Naga and very carefully chosen guards were all around, Gyoko hovering somewhere in the background.  Kiku-san knelt on the veranda facing them, her back to the garden—tiny, alone, and very rare.

Mariko was right, Toranaga thought.  The courtesan’s worth the money.  His spirit was beguiled by her, his anxiety about Zataki lessened.  Shall I send for her again tonight or shall I sleep alone?  His manhood stirred as he remembered last night.

‘So, Gyoko-san, you wished to see me?’ he had asked in his private quarters at the fortress.

‘Yes, Sire.’

He lit the measured length of incense.  ‘Please proceed.’

Gyoko had bowed, but he hardly had eyes for her.  This was the first time he had seen Kiku closely.  Nearness improved her exquisite features, as yet unmarked by the rigors of her profession.  ‘Please play some music while we talk,’ he said, surprised that Gyoko was prepared to talk in front of her.

Kiku had obeyed at once, but her music then was nothing like tonight.  Last night it was to soothe, an accompaniment to the business at hand.  Tonight was to excite, to awe, and to promise.

‘Sire,’ Gyoko had begun formally, ‘first may I humbly thank you for the honor you do me, my poor house, and Kiku-san, the first of my Ladies of the Willow World.  The price I have asked for contract is insolent I know, impossible I am sure, not agreed to until dawn tomorrow when both the Lady Kasigi and the Lady Toda in their wisdom will decide.  If it were a matter for you, you would have decided long ago, for what is contemptible money to any samurai, let alone to the greatest daimyo in the world?’

Gyoko had paused for effect.  He had not taken the bait, but moved his fan slightly, which could be interpreted as irritation at her expansiveness, acceptance of the compliment, or an absolute rejection of the asking price, depending on her inner mood.  Both knew very clearly who really approved the amount.

‘What is money?  Nothing but a means of communication,’ she continued, ‘like Kiku-san’s music.  What in fact do we of the Willow World do but communicate and entertain, to enlighten the soul of man, to lighten his burden. . . .’  Toranaga had stifled a caustic response, reminding himself the woman had bought one stick of time for five hundred koku and five hundred koku merited an attentive audience.  So he let her continue and listened with one ear, and let the other enjoy the flow of perfect music fhat tugged at his innermost being, gentling him into a sense of euphoria.  Then he was rudely yanked back into the world of reality by something Gyoko had just said.  ‘What?’

‘I was merely suggesting that you should take the Willow World under your protection and change the course of history.’

‘How?’

‘By doing what you have always done, Sire, by concerning yourself with the future of the whole Empire—before your own.’

He let the ludicrous exaggeration pass and told himself to close his ears to the music—that he had fallen into the first trap by telling Gyoko to bring the girl, the second by letting himself feast on her beauty and perfume, and the third by allowing her to play seductively while the mistress talked.

‘The Willow World?  What about the Willow World?’

‘Two things, Sire.  First, the Willow World is presently intermingled with the real world to the detraction of both.  Second, our ladies cannot truly rise to the perfection all men have the right to expect. ‘

‘Oh?’  A thread of Kiku’s perfume, one he had never known before, wafted across him.  It was perfectly chosen.  Involuntarily he looked at her.  A half-smile was on her lips for him alone.  Languidly she dropped her eyes and her fingers stroked the strings and he felt them on him intimately.

He tried to concentrate.  ‘So sorry, Gyoko-san.  You were saying?’

‘Please excuse me for not being clear, Sire.  First:  The Willow World should be separate from the real one.  My Tea House in Mishima is on one street in the south, others are scattered over the whole city.  It is the same in Kyoto and Nara, and the same throughout all the Empire.  Even in Yedo.  But I thought that Yedo could set the pattern of the world.’

‘How?’  His heart missed a beat as a perfect chord fell into place.

‘All other crafts wisely have streets of their own, areas of their own.  We should be allowed our own place, Sire.  Yedo is a new city; you might consider setting aside a special section for your Willow World.  Bring all Tea Houses within the walls of this area and forbid any Tea Houses, however modest, outside.’

Now his mind concentrated totally, for here was a vast idea.  It was so good that he berated himself for not thinking of it himself.  All Tea Houses and all courtesans within a fence, and therefore remarkably easy to police, to watch, and to tax, and all their customers equally easy to police, to watch, and to spy upon.  The simplicity staggered him.  He knew also the powerful influence wielded by the Ladies of the First Rank.

But his face betrayed none of his enthusiasm.  ‘What’s the advantage in that, Gyoko-san?’

‘We would have our own guild, Sire, with all the protection that a guild means, a real guild in one place, not spread out, so to speak, a guild that all would obey. . . .’

‘Must obey?’

‘Yes, Sire.  Must obey, for the good of all.  The guild would be responsible that prices were fair and that standards were maintained.  Why, in a few years, a Lady of the Second Class in Yedo would equal one in Kyoto and so on.  If the scheme was valuable in Yedo why not in every city in your domain?’

‘But those owners who are within the fence dominate everything.  They’re monopolists, neh?  They can charge usurious entrance fees, neh, can lock the doors against many who have an equal right to work in the Willow World, neh?‘

‘Yes, it could be so, Sire.  And it will happen in some places, and in some times.  But strict laws can easily be made to ensure fairness, and it would seem the good outweighs the bad, for us and for our honored customers and clients.  Second:  Ladies of—’

‘Let us finish your first point, Gyoko-san,’ Toranaga said dryly.  ‘So that’s a point against your suggestion, neh?‘

‘Yes, Sire.  It’s possible.  But any daimyo could easily order it otherwise.  And he has to deal with only one guild in one place.  You, Sire, you would have no trouble.  Each area would of course be responsible for the peace of the area.  And for taxes.’

‘Ah yes, taxes!  It would certainly be much easier to collect taxes.  That’s a very good point in its favor.’

Gyoko’s eyes were on the incense stick.  More than half had vanished.  ‘You, in your wisdom, might decree that our Willow World should be the only world, within the whole world, that is never to be taxed, for all time.  Never, never, never.’  She looked up at him clearly, her voice guileless.  ‘After all, Sire, isn’t our world also called the ‘Floating World,’ isn’t our only offering beauty, isn’t a large part of beauty youth?  Isn’t something so fleeting and transient as youth a gift from the gods, and sacred?  Of all men, Sire, you must know how rare and fleeting youth is, a woman is.’

The music died.  His eyes were pulled to Kiku-san.  She was watching him intently, a small frown on her brow.

‘Yes,’ he said honestly.  ‘I know how fleeting that can be.’  He sipped his cha.  ‘I will consider what you’ve said.  Second?’

‘Second.’ Gyoko collected her wits.  ‘Second and last, Sire, you could put your chop on the Willow World forever.  Consider some of our Ladies:  Kiku-san, for instance, has studied singing and dancing and the samisen since she was six.  Every waking moment she was working very hard to perfect her art.  Admittedly she’s rightfully become a Lady of the First Class, as her unique artistry merits.  But she’s still a courtesan and some clients expect to enjoy her on the pillow as well as through her art.  I believe two classes of Ladies should be created.  First, courtesans, as always—amusing, happy, physical.  Second, a new class, perhaps gei-sha could describe them:  Art Persons—persons dedicated solely to art.  Gei-shas would not be expected to go to the pillow as part of their duty.  They would solely be entertainers, dancers, singers, musicians—specialists—and so give themselves exclusively to this profession.  Let gei-shas entertain the minds and spirits of men with their beauty and grace and their artistry.  Let courtesans satisfy the body with beauty, grace, and equal artistry.’

Again he was struck by the simplicity and the far-reaching possibilities of her idea.  ‘How would you select a gei-sha?‘

‘By her aptitude.  At puberty her owner would decide the way of her future.  And the guild could approve, or reject, the apprentice, neh?‘

‘It is an extraordinary idea, Gyoko-san.’

The woman bowed and shivered.  ‘Please excuse my long-windedness, Sire, but this way, when beauty fades and the body thickens, still the girl can have a rare future and a real value.  She won’t have to go down the road that all courtesans today must travel.  I plead for the artists among them, my Kiku-san for one.  I petition you to grant the favored few a future and the position they merit in the land.  To learn to sing and to dance and to play requires practice and practice over the years.  The pillow needs youth and there is no aphrodisiac like youth.  Neh?‘

‘No.’  Toranaga watched her.  ‘Gei-shas may not pillow?’

‘That would not be part of a gei-sha’s duty, whatever the money offered.  Gei-shas would never be obliged to pillow, Sire.  If a gei-sha wished to pillow with a particular man, it would be her private concern—or perhaps it should be arranged with the permission of her mistress, the price to be only as high as that man can afford.  A courtesan’s duty would be to pillow with artistry—gei-shas and the apprentice gei-shas would be untouchable.  Please excuse me for talking so long.’  Gyoko bowed and Kiku bowed.  The barest fraction of incense remained.

Toranaga questioned them for twice the allotted time, pleased with the opportunity to learn about their world, probing their ideas and hopes and fears.  What he learned excited him.  He docketed the information for future use, then he sent Kiku into the garden.  ‘Tonight, Gyoko-san, I would like her to stay, if she would care to, until dawn—if she’s free.  Would you please ask her?  Of course I realize that she may be tired now.  After all, she’s played so superbly for such a long time and I’ll quite understand.  But perhaps she would consider it.  I’d be grateful if you would ask her.’

‘Of course, Sire, but I know she would be honored by your invitation.  It’s our duty to serve in any way we can, neh?‘

‘Yes.  But she is, as you so rightly point out, most special.  I’ll quite understand if she’s too tired.  Please ask her in a moment.’  He gave Gyoko a small leather bag containing ten koban, regretting the ostentation, but knowing his position demanded it.  ‘Perhaps this would compensate you for such an exhausting evening, and be a small token of my thanks for your ideas.’

‘It’s our duty to serve, Sire,’ Gyoko said.  He saw her trying to stop her fingers from counting through the soft leather, and fail.  ‘Thank you, Sire.  Please excuse me, I will ask her.’  Then, strangely and unexpectedly, tears filled her eyes.  ‘Please accept the thanks of a vulgar old woman for your courtesy and for listening.  It’s just that for all the giving of pleasure, our only reward is a river of tears.  In truth, Lord, it is difficult to explain how a woman feels . . . please excuse me. . . .

‘Listen, Gyoko-san, I understand.  Don’t worry.  I’ll consider everything you’ve said.  Oh yes, you’ll both leave with me shortly after dawn.  A few days in the mountains will make a pleasant change.  I would imagine the contract price will be approved, neh?‘

Gyoko bowed her thanks, then she brushed her tears away and said firmly, ‘May I therefore ask the name of the honored person for whom her contract will be bought?’

‘Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Minowara.’

Now under the Yokosé night, the air sweetly cool, Kiku-san’s music and voice possessing their minds and hearts, Toranaga let his mind wander.  He remembered the pride-filled glow that had swamped Gyoko’s face and he wondered again at the bewildering gullibility of people.  How baffling it was that even the most cunning and clever people would frequently see only what they wanted to see, and would rarely look beyond the thinnest of facades.  Or they would ignore reality, dismissing it as the facade.  And then, when their whole world fell to pieces and they were on their knees slitting their bellies or cutting their throats, or cast out into the freezing world, they would tear their topknots or rend their clothes and bewail their karma, blaming gods or kami or luck or their lords or husbands or vassals—anything or anyone—but never themselves.

So very strange.

He looked at his guests and saw they were still watching the girl, locked in their secrets, their minds expanded by her artistry—all except the Anjin-san, who was edgy and fidgeting.  Never mind, Anjin-san, Toranaga thought with amusement, it’s only your lack of civilization.  Yes, never mind, that will come in time, and even that doesn’t matter so long as you obey.  At the moment I need your touchiness and your anger and your violence.

Yes, you’re all here.  You Omi, and Yabu and Naga and Buntaro, and you Mariko and Kiku-san and even Gyoko, all my Izu hawks and falcons, all trained and very ready.  All here except one—the Christian priest.  And soon it’ll be your turn, Tsukku-san.  Or perhaps mine.

Father Martin Alvito of the Society of Jesus was enraged.  Just when he knew he should be preparing for his meeting with Toranaga, at which he would need all his wits, he was faced with this new abomination that could not wait.  ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’ he lashed out at the cowled Japanese acolyte who knelt abjectly in front of him.  The other Brothers stood around the small room in a semicircle.

‘Please forgive me, Father.  I have sinned,’ the man stammered in complete misery.  ‘Please forgive—’

‘I repeat:  It is for Almighty God in His wisdom to forgive, not me.  You’ve committed a mortal sin.  You’ve broken your Holy Oath.  Well?’

The reply was barely audible.  ‘I’m sorry, Father.’  The man was thin and frail.  His baptismal name was Joseph and he was thirty.  His fellow acolytes, all Brothers of the Society, ranged from eighteen to forty.  All were tonsured, all of noble samurai birth from provinces in Kyushu, all rigorously trained for the priesthood though none yet ordained.

‘I confessed, Father,’ Brother Joseph said, keeping his head bowed.

‘You think that’s enough?’  Impatiently Alvito turned away and walked to the window.  The room was ordinary, the mats fair, the paper shoji screens poorly repaired.  The inn was seedy and third class but the best that he could find in Yokosé, the rest taken by samurai.  He stared out into the night, half listening to Kiku’s distant voice soaring over the noise of the river.  Until the courtesan finished Alvito knew he would not be sent for by Toranaga.  ‘Filthy whore,’ he said, half to himself, the wailing discordance of Japanese singing annoying him more than usual, intensifying his anger at Joseph’s betrayal.

‘Listen, Brothers,’ Alvito said to the rest, turning back to them.  ‘We are in judgment over Brother Joseph, who went with a whore of this town last night, breaking his Holy Oath of chastity, breaking his Holy Oath of obedience, desecrating his immortal soul, his position as a Jesuit, his place in the Church and all that that stands for.  Before God I ask each of you—have you done likewise?’

They all shook their heads.

‘Have you ever done likewise?’

‘No, Father.’

‘You, sinner!  Before God, you admit your sin?’

‘Yes, Father, I’ve already con—’

‘Before God, is this the first time?’

‘No, this was not the first time,’ Joseph said.  ‘I—I went with another four nights ago—in Mishima.’

‘But . . . but yesterday we said Mass!  What about your confession yesterday and the night before and the one before that, you didn’t— Yesterday we said Mass!  For the love of God, you took the Eucharist unconfessed, with full knowledge of a mortal sin?’

Brother Joseph was gray with shame.  He had been with the Jesuits since he was eight.  ‘It was the—it was the first time, Father.  Only four days ago.  I’ve been sinless all my life.  Again I was tempted—and, the Blessed Madonna forgive me, this time I failed.  I’m thirty.  I’m a man—we’re all men.  Please, the Lord Jesus Father forgave sinners—why can’t you forgive me?  We’re all men—’

‘We’re all priests!’

‘We’re not real priests!  We’re not professed—we’re not even ordained!  We’re not real Jesuits.  We can’t take the fourth vow like you, Father,’ Joseph said sullenly.  ‘Other Orders ordain their brethren but not the Jesuits.  Why shouldn’t—’

‘Hold your tongue!’

‘I won’t!’ Joseph flared.  ‘Please excuse me, Father, but why shouldn’t some of us be ordained?’  He pointed at one of the Brothers, a tall, round-faced man who watched serenely.  ‘Why shouldn’t Brother Michael be ordained?  He’s studied since he was twelve.  Now he’s thirty-six and a perfect Christian, almost a saint.  He’s converted thousands but he’s still not been ordained though—’

‘In the name of God, you will—’

‘In the name of God, Father, why can’t one of us be ordained?  Someone has to dare to ask you!’  Joseph was on his feet now.  ‘I’ve been training for sixteen years, Brother Matteo for twenty-three, Juliao more, all our lives—countless years.  We know the prayers and catechisms and hymns better than you, and Michael and I even speak Latin as well as Portu—’

‘Stop!’

‘—Portuguese, and we do most of the preaching and debating with the Buddhists and all the other idolaters and do most of the converting.  We do!  In the name of God and the Madonna, what’s wrong with us?  Why aren’t we good enough for Jesuits?  Is it just because we’re not Portuguese or Spanish, or because we’re not hairy or round-eyed?  In the name of God, Father, why isn’t there an ordained Japanese Jesuit?’

‘Now you will hold your tongue!’

‘We’ve even been to Rome, Michael, Juliao, and me,’ Joseph burst out.  ‘You’ve never been to Rome or met the Father-General or His Holiness the Pope as we’ve done—’

‘Which is another reason you should know better than to argue.  You’re vowed to chastity, poverty, and obedience.  You were chosen among the many, favored out of the many, and now you’ve let your soul get so corrupted that—’

‘So sorry, Father, but I don’t think we were favored to spend eight years going there and coming back if after all our learning and praying and preaching and waiting not one of us is ordained even though it’s been promised.  I was twelve when I left.  Juliao was elev—’

‘I forbid you to say any more!  I order you to stop.’  Then in the awful silence Alvito looked at the others, who lined the walls, watching and listening closely.  ‘You will all be ordained in time.  But you, Joseph, before God you will—’

‘Before God,’ Joseph erupted, ‘in whose time?’

‘In God’s time,’ Alvito slammed back, stunned by the open rebellion, his zeal blazing.  ‘Get-down-on-your-knees!’

Brother Joseph tried to stare him down but he could not, then his fit passing, he exhaled, sank to his knees, and bowed his head.

‘May God have mercy on you.  You are self-confessed to hideous mortal sin, guilty of breaking your Holy vow of chastity, your Holy vow of obedience to your superiors.  And guilty of unbelievable insolence.  How dare you question our General’s orders or the policy of the Church?  You have jeopardized your immortal soul.  You are a disgrace to your God, your Company, your Church, your family, and your friends.  Your case is so serious it will have to be dealt with by the Visitor-General himself.  Until that time you will not take communion, you will not be confessed or hear confession or any part in any service . . . .’  Joseph’s shoulders began shaking with the agony of remorse that possessed him.  ‘As initial penance you are forbidden to talk, you will have only rice and water for thirty days, you will spend every night for the next thirty nights on your knees in prayer to the Blessed Madonna for forgiveness for your hideous sins, and further you will be scourged.  Thirty lashes.  Take off your cassock.’

The shoulders stopped trembling.  Joseph looked up.  ‘I accept everything you’ve ordered, Father,’ he said, ‘and I apologize with all my heart, with all my soul.  I beg your forgiveness as I will beg His forgiveness forever.  But I will not be lashed like a common criminal.’

‘You-will-be-scourged!’

‘Please excuse me, Father,’ Joseph said.  ‘In the name of the Blessed Madonna, it’s not the pain.  Pain is nothing to me, death is nothing to me.  That I’m damned and will burn in hellfire for all eternity may be my karma, and I will endure it.  But I’m samurai.  I’m of Lord Harima’s family.’

‘Your pride sickens me.  It’s not for the pain you’re to be punished, but to remove your disgusting pride.  Common criminal?  Where is your humility?  Our Lord Jesus Christ endured mortification.  And he died with common criminals.’

‘Yes.  That’s our major problem here, Father.’

‘What?’

‘Please excuse my, bluntness, Father, but if the King of Kings had not died like a common criminal on the cross, samurai could accept—’

‘Stop!’

‘—Christianity more easily.  The Society’s wise to avoid preaching Christ crucified like the other Orders—’

Like an avenging angel, Alvito held up his cross as a shield in front of him.  ‘In the name of God, keep silent and obey or-you-are-excommunicated!  Seize him and strip him!’

The others came to life and moved forward, but Joseph sprang to his feet.  A knife appeared in his hand from under his robes.  He put his back to the wall.  Everyone stopped in his tracks.  Except Brother Michael.  Brother Michael came forward slowly and calmly, his hand outstretched.  ‘Please give me the knife, Brother,’ he said gently.

‘No.  Please excuse me.’

‘Then pray for me, Brother, as I pray for you.’  Michael quietly reached up for the weapon.

Joseph darted a few paces back, then readied for a death thrust.  ‘Forgive me, Michael.’

Michael continued to approach.

‘Michael, stop!  Leave him alone,’ Alvito commanded.

Michael obeyed, inches from the hovering blade.

Then Alvito said, ashen, ‘God have mercy on you, Joseph.  You are excommunicated.  Satan has possessed your soul on earth as he will possess it after death.  Get thee gone!’

‘I renounce the Christian God!  I’m Japanese—I’m Shinto.  My soul’s my own now.  I’m not afraid,’ Joseph shouted.  ‘Yes, we’ve pride—unlike barbarians.  We’re Japanese, we’re not barbarians.  Even our peasants are not barbarians.’

Gravely Alvito made the sign of the cross as protection for all of them and fearlessly turned his back on the knife.  ‘Let us pray together, Brothers.  Satan is in our midst.’

The others also turned away, many sadly, some still in shock.  Only Michael remained where he was, looking at Joseph.  Joseph ripped off his rosary and cross.  He was going to hurl it away but Michael held out his hand again.  ‘Please, Brother, please give it to me—it is such a simple gift,’ he said.

Joseph looked at him a long moment, then he gave it to him. ‘Please excuse me.’

‘I will pray for you,’ Michael said.

‘Didn’t you hear?  I’ve renounced God!’

‘I will pray that God will not renounce you, Uraga-noh-Tadamasa-san.’

‘Forgive me, Brother,’ Joseph said.  He stuck the knife in his sash, jerked the door open, and walked blindly along the corridor out onto the veranda.  People watched him curiously, among them Uo the fisherman, who was waiting patiently in the shadows.  Joseph crossed the courtyard and went toward the gate.  A samurai stood in his way.

‘Halt!’

Joseph stopped.

‘Where are you going, please?’

‘I’m sorry, please excuse me, I—I don’t know.’

‘I serve Lord Toranaga.  So sorry, I couldn’t help hearing what went on in there.  The whole inn must have heard.  Shocking bad manners . . . shocking for your leader to shout like that and disturb the peace.  And you too.  I’m on duty here.  I think it’s best you see the officer of my watch.’

‘I think—thank you, I’ll go the other way.  Please excuse—’

‘You’ll go nowhere, so sorry.  Except to see my officer.’

‘What?  Oh—yes.  Yes, I’m sorry, of course.’  Joseph tried to make his brain work.

‘Good.  Thank you.’  The samurai turned as another samurai approached from the bridge and saluted.

‘I’m to fetch the Tsukku-san for Lord Toranaga.’

‘Good.  You’re expected.’