Shōgun (The Asian Saga Book 1)

The Regents were meeting in the Great Room on the second level of the donjon.  Ishido, Kiyama, Zataki, Ito, and Onoshi.  The dawn sun cast long shadows and the smell of fire still hung heavy in the air.  Lady Ochiba was present, also greatly perturbed.

‘So sorry, Lord General, I disagree,’ Kiyama was saying in his tight brittle voice.  ‘It’s impossible to dismiss Lady Toda’s seppuku and my granddaughter’s bravery and Lady Maeda’s testimony and formal death—along with one hundred and forty-seven Toranaga dead and that part of the castle almost gutted!  It just can’t be dismissed.’

‘I agree,’ Zataki said.  He had arrived yesterday morning from Takato and when he had the details of Mariko’s confrontation with Ishido he had been secretly delighted.  ‘If she’d been allowed to go yesterday as I advised, we wouldn’t be in this snare now.’

‘It’s not as serious as you think.’  Ishido’s mouth was a hard line and Ochiba loathed him at that moment, loathed him for failing and for trapping them all in this crisis.  ‘The ninja were only after loot,’ Ishido said.

‘The barbarian is loot?’ Kiyama scoffed.  ‘They’d mount such a vast attack for one barbarian?’

‘Why not?  He could be ransomed, neh?‘  Ishido stared back at the daimyo, who was flanked by Ito Teruzumi and Zataki.  ‘Christians in Nagasaki would pay highly for him, dead or alive.  Neh?‘

‘That’s possible,’ Zataki agreed.  ‘That’s the way barbarians fight.’

Kiyama said tightly, ‘Are you suggesting, formally, that Christians planned and paid for this foul attack?’

‘I said it was possible.  And it is possible.’

‘Yes.  But unlikely,’ Ishido interposed, not wanting the precarious balance of the Regents wrecked by an open quarrel now.  He was still apoplectic that spies had not forewarned him about Toranaga’s secret lair, and still did not understand how it could have been constructed with such secrecy and not a breath of rumor about it.  ‘I suggest ninja were after loot.’

‘That’s very sensible and most correct,’ Ito said with a malicious glint in his eyes.  He was a small, middle-aged man, resplendently attired with ornamental swords, even though he had been routed out of bed like all of them.  He was made up like a woman and his teeth were blackened.  ‘Yes, Lord General.  But perhaps the ninja didn’t mean to ransom him in Nagasaki but in Yedo, to Lord Toranaga.  Isn’t he still his lackey?’

Ishido’s brow darkened at the mention of the name.  ‘I agree we should spend our time discussing Lord Toranaga and not ninja.  Probably he ordered the attack, neh?  He’s treacherous enough to do that.’

‘No, he’d never use ninja,’ Zataki said.  ‘Treachery yes, but not those filth.  Merchants would do that—or barbarians.  Not Lord Toranaga.’

Kiyama watched Zataki, hating him.  ‘Our Portuguese friends could not, would not, instigate such an interference in our affairs.  Never!’

‘Would you believe they and or their priests would conspire with one of the Christian Kyushu daimyos to war on non-Christians—the war supported by a foreign invasion?’

‘Who?  Tell me.  Do you have proof?’

‘Not yet, Lord Kiyama.  But the rumors are still there and one day I’ll get proof.’  Zataki turned back to Ishido.  ‘What can we do about this attack?  What’s the way out of the dilemma?’ he asked, then glanced at Ochiba.  She was watching Kiyama, then her eyes moved to Ishido, then back to Kiyama again, and he had never seen her more desirable.

Kiyama said, ‘We’re all agreed it’s evident Lord Toranaga plotted that we should be snared by Toda Mariko-sama, however brave she was, however duty bound and honorable, God have mercy on her.’

Ito adjusted a fold in the skirts of his impeccable kimono.  ‘But don’t you agree this would be a perfect stratagem for Lord Toranaga, to attack his own vassals like that?  Oh, Lord Zataki, I know he’d never use ninja, but he is very clever at getting others to take his ideas and believe them as their own.  Neh?‘

‘Anything’s possible.  But ninja wouldn’t be like him.  He’s too clever to use them.  Or get anyone to do that.  They’re not to be trusted.  And why force Mariko-sama?  Far better to wait and let us make the mistake.  We were trapped.  Neh?‘

‘Yes.  We’re still trapped.’  Kiyama looked at Ishido.  ‘And whoever ordered the attack was a fool, and did us no service.’

‘Perhaps the Lord General’s correct, that it’s not as serious as we think,’ Ito said.  ‘But so sad—not an elegant death for her, poor lady.’

‘That was her karma and we’re not trapped.’ Ishido stared back at Kiyama.  ‘It was fortunate she had that bolt hole to run to, otherwise those vermin would have captured her.’

‘But they didn’t capture her, Lord General, and she committed a form of seppuku and so did the others and now, if we don’t let everyone go, there’ll be more protest deaths and we cannot afford that,’ Kiyama said.

‘I don’t agree.  Everyone should stay here—at least until Toranaga-sama crosses into our domains.’

Ito smiled.  ‘That will be a memorable day.’

‘You don’t think he will?’ Zataki asked.

‘What I think has no value, Lord Zataki.  We’ll soon know what he’s going to do.  Whatever it is makes no difference.  Toranaga must die, if the Heir is to inherit.’  Ito looked at Ishido.  ‘Is the barbarian dead yet, Lord General?’

Ishido shook his head and watched Kiyama.  ‘It would be bad luck for him to die now, or to be maimed—a brave man like that.  Neh?‘

‘I think he’s a plague and the sooner he dies the better.  Have you forgotten?’

‘He could be useful to us.  I agree with Lord Zataki—and you—Toranaga’s no fool.  There’s got to be a good reason for Toranaga’s cherishing him.  Neh?‘

‘Yes, you’re right again,’ Ito said.  ‘The Anjin-san did well for a barbarian, didn’t he?  Toranaga was right to make him samurai.’  He looked at Ochiba.  ‘When he gave you the flower, Lady, I thought that was a poetic gesture worthy of a courtier.’

There was general agreement.

‘What about the poetry competition now, Lady?’ Ito asked.

‘It should be canceled, so sorry,’ Ochiba said.

‘Yes,’ Kiyama agreed.

‘Had you decided on your entry, Sire?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he answered.  ‘But now I could say:

‘On a withered branch

The tempest fell. . . .

Dark summer’s tears.”

‘Let it be her epitaph.  She was samurai,’ Ito said quietly.  ‘I share this summer’s tears.’

‘For me,’ Ochiba said, ‘for me I would have preferred a different ending:

‘On a withered branch

The snow listened. . . .

Winter’s silence.’

But I agree, Lord Ito. I too think we will all share in this dark summer’s tears.’

‘No, so sorry, Lady, but you’re wrong,’ Ishido said.  ‘There will be tears all right, but Toranaga and his allies will shed them.’  He began to bring the meeting to a close.  ‘I’ll start an inquiry into the ninja attack at once.  I doubt if we’ll ever discover the truth.  Meanwhile, for security and personal safety, all passes will regretfully be canceled and everyone regretfully forbidden to leave until the twenty-second day.’

‘No,’ Onoshi the leper, the last of the Regents, said from his lonely place across the room where he lay, unseen, behind the opaque curtains of his litter.  ‘So sorry, but that’s exactly what you can’t do.  Now you must let everyone go.  Everyone.’

‘Why?’

Onoshi’s voice was malevolent and unafraid.  ‘If you don’t, you dishonor the bravest Lady in the realm, you dishonor the Lady Kiyama Achiko and the Lady Maeda, God have mercy on their souls.  When this filthy act is common knowledge, only God the Father knows what damage it will cause the Heir—and all of us, if we’re not careful.’

Ochiba felt a chill rush through her.  A year ago, when Onoshi had come to pay his respects to the dying Taikō, the guards had insisted the litter curtains be opened in case Onoshi had weapons concealed, and she had seen the ravaged half-face—noseless, earless, scabbed—the burning, fanatic eyes, the stump of the left hand and the good right hand grasping the short stabbing sword.

Lady Ochiba prayed that neither she nor Yaemon would ever catch leprosy.  She, too, wanted an end to this conference, for she had to decide now what to do—what to do about Toranaga and what to do about Ishido.

‘Second,’ Onoshi was saying, ‘if you use this filthy attack as an excuse to hold anyone here, you imply you never intended to let them go even though you gave your solemn written undertaking.  Third:  you—’

Ishido interrupted, ‘The whole Council agreed to issue the safe conducts!’

‘So sorry, the whole Council agreed to the wise suggestion of the Lady Ochiba to offer safe conducts, presuming, with her, that few would take advantage of the opportunity to leave, and even if they did delays would occur.’

‘You suggest Toranaga’s women and Toda Mariko wouldn’t have left and that others wouldn’t have followed?’

‘What happened to those women wouldn’t swerve Lord Toranaga a jot from his purpose.  We’ve got to worry about our allies!  Without the ninja attack and the three seppukus this whole nonsense would have been stillborn!’

‘I don’t agree.’

‘Third and last:  If you don’t let everyone go now, after what Lady Etsu said publicly, you’ll be convicted by most daimyos of ordering the attack—though not publicly—and we all risk the same fate, and then there’ll be lots of tears.’

‘I don’t need to rely on ninja.’

‘Of course,’ Onoshi agreed, his voice poisonous.  ‘Neither do I, nor does anyone here.  But I feel it is my duty to remind you that there are two hundred and sixty-four daimyos, that the Heir’s strength lies on a coalition of perhaps two hundred, and that the Heir cannot afford to have you, his most loyal standard-bearer and commander-in-chief, presumed guilty of such filthy methods and such monstrous inefficiency as the attack failed.’

‘You say I ordered that attack?’

‘Of course not, so sorry.  I merely said you will be convicted by default if you don’t let everyone leave.’

‘Is there anyone here who thinks I ordered it?’  No one challenged Ishido openly.  There was no proof.  Correctly, he had not consulted them and had talked only in vague innuendos, even to Kiyama and Ochiba.  But they all knew and all were equally furious that he had had the stupidity to fail—all except Zataki.  Even so, Ishido was still master of Osaka, and governor of the Taikō’s treasure, so he could not be touched or removed.

‘Good,’ Ishido said with finality.  ‘The ninja were after loot.  We’ll vote on the safe conducts.  I vote they be canceled.’

‘I disagree,’ Zataki said.

‘So sorry, I oppose also,’ said Onoshi.

Ito reddened under their scrutiny.  ‘I have to agree with Lord Onoshi, at the same time, well—it’s all very difficult, neh?‘

‘Vote,’ Ishido said grimly.

‘I agree with you, Lord General.’

Kiyama said, ‘So sorry, I don’t.’

‘Good,’ Onoshi said.  ‘That’s settled, but I agree with you, Lord General, we’ve other pressing problems.  We have to know what Lord Toranaga will do now.  What’s your opinion?’

Ishido was staring at Kiyama, his face set.  Then he said, ‘What’s your answer to that?’

Kiyama was trying to clear his head of all his hates and fears and worries, to make a final choice—Ishido or Toranaga.  This had to be the time.  He remembered vividly Mariko talking about Onoshi’s supposed treachery, about Ishido’s supposed betrayal and Toranaga’s supposed proof of that betrayal, about the barbarian and his ship—and about what might happen to the Heir and the Church if Toranaga dominated the land and what might happen to their law if the Holy Fathers dominated the land.  And overlaying that was the Father-Visitor’s anguish about the heretic and his ship, and what would happen if the Black Ship was lost, and the Captain-General’s Godsworn conviction that the Anjin-san was Satan spawned, Mariko bewitched as the Rodrigues was bewitched.  Poor Mariko, he thought sadly, to die like that after so much suffering, without absolution, without last rites, without a priest, to spend eternity away from God’s sweet heavenly grace.  Madonna have mercy on her.  So many summer’s tears.

And what about Achiko?  Did the ninja leader single her out or was that just another killing?  How brave she was to charge and not to cringe, poor child.  Why is the barbarian still alive?  Why didn’t the ninja kill him?  They should have been ordered to, if this filthy attack was conceived by Ishido, as of course it must have been.  Shameful of Ishido to fail—disgusting to fail.  Ah, but what courage Mariko had, how clever she was to ensnare us in her courageous web!  And the barbarian.

If I’d been he I would never have been able to delay the ninja with so much courage, or to protect Mariko from the hideous shame of capture—and Kiritsubo and Sazuko and the Lady Etsu, yes, and even Achiko.  But for him and the secret sanctuary, Lady Mariko would have been captured.  And all of them.  It’s my samurai duty to honor the Anjin-san for being samurai.  Neh?

God forgive me, I did not go to Mariko-chan to be her second, which was my Christian duty.  The heretic helped her and lifted her up as the Christ Jesus helped others and lifted them up, but I—I forsook her.  Who’s the Christian?

I don’t know.  Even so, he has to die.

‘What about Toranaga, Lord Kiyama?’ Ishido said again.  ‘What about the enemy?’

‘What about the Kwanto?’ Kiyama asked, watching him.

‘When Toranaga’s destroyed I propose that the Kwanto be given to one of the Regents.’

‘Which Regent?’

‘You,’ Ishido answered blandly, then added, ‘or perhaps Zataki, Lord of Shinano.’  This Kiyama thought wise, for Zataki was needed very much while Toranaga was alive and Ishido had already told him, a month ago, that Zataki had demanded the Kwanto as payment for opposing Toranaga.  Together they had agreed Ishido should promise it to him, both knowing this to be an empty promise.  Both were agreed Zataki should forfeit his life and his province for such impertinence, as soon as convenient.

‘Of course I’m hardly the right choice for that honor,’ Kiyama said, carefully assessing who in the room were for him and who against.

Onoshi tried to conceal his disapproval.  ‘That suggestion’s certainly a valuable one, worthy of discussion, neh?  But that’s for the future.  What’s the present Lord of the Kwanto going to do now?’

Ishido was still looking at Kiyama.  ‘Well?’

Kiyama felt Zataki’s hostility though nothing showed on his enemy’s face.  Two against me, he thought, and Ochiba, but she has no vote.  Ito will always vote with Ishido, so I win—if Ishido means what he says.  Does he? he asked himself, studying the hard face in front of him, probing for the truth.  Then he decided and he said openly what he had concluded.  ‘Lord Toranaga will never come to Osaka.’

‘Good,’ Ishido said.  ‘Then he’s isolated, outlawed, and the Imperial invitation to commit seppuku is already prepared for the Exalted’s signature.  And that’s the end of Toranaga and all his line.  Forever.’

‘Yes.  If the Son of Heaven comes to Osaka.’

‘What?’

‘I agree with Lord Ito,’ Kiyama continued, preferring him as an ally and not an enemy.  ‘Lord Toranaga is the wiliest of men.  I think he’s even cunning enough to stop the Exalted’s arrival.’

‘Impossible!’

‘What if the visit’s postponed?’ Kiyama asked, suddenly enjoying Ishido’s discomfort, detesting him for failing.

‘The Son of Heaven will be here as planned!’

‘And if the Son of Heaven isn’t?’

‘I tell you He will be!’

‘And if He isn’t?’

Lady Ochiba asked, ‘How could Lord Toranaga do that?’

‘I don’t know.  But if the Exalted wanted his visit delayed for a month . . . there’s nothing we could do.  Isn’t Lord Toranaga a past master at subversion?  I’d put nothing past him—even subverting the Son of Heaven.’

There was dead silence in the room.  The enormity of that thought, and its repercussions, enveloped them.

‘Please excuse me but . . . but what’s the answer then?’  Ochiba spoke for them all.

‘War!’ Kiyama said.  ‘We mobilize today—secretly.  We wait until the visit’s postponed, as it will be.  That’s our signal that Toranaga has subverted the Most High.  The same day we march against the Kwanto, during the rainy season.’

Suddenly the floor began to quiver.

The first earthquake was slight and lasted only for a few moments but it made the timbers cry out.

Now there was another tremor.  Stronger.  A fissure ripped up a stone wall and stopped.  Dust pattered down from the rafters.  Joists and beams and tiles shrieked and tiles scattered off a roof and pitched into the forecourt below.

Ochiba felt faint and nauseous and she wondered if it was her karma to be buried in the rubble today.  She hung onto the trembling floor and waited with everyone in the castle, and with all the city and the ships in the harbor, for the real shock to come.

But it did not come.  The quake ended.  Life began again.  The joy of living rushed back into them, and their laughter echoed through the castle.  Everyone seemed to know that this time—for this hour, for this day—the holocaust would pass them by.

‘Shigata ga nai,’ Ishido said, still convulsed.  ‘Neh?‘

‘Yes,’ Ochiba said gloriously.

‘Let’s vote,’ Ishido said, relishing his existence.  ‘I vote for war!’

‘And I!’

‘And I!’

‘And I!’

‘And I!’

When Blackthorne regained consciousness he knew that Mariko was dead, and he knew how she had died and why she had died.  He was lying on futons, Grays guarding him, a raftered ceiling overhead, dazzling sunshine hurting him, the silence weird.  A doctor was studying him.  The first of his great fears left him.

I can see.

The doctor smiled and said something, but Blackthorne could not hear him.  He started to get up but a blinding pain set off a violent ringing in his ears.  The acrid taste of gunpowder was still in his mouth and his entire body was hurting.

For a moment he lost consciousness again, then he felt gentle hands lift his head and put a cup to his lips and the bitter-sweet tang of the jasmine-scented herb cha took away the taste of gunpowder.  He forced his eyes open.  Again the doctor said something and again he could not hear and again terror began to well, but he stopped it, his mind remembering the explosion and seeing her dead and, before she had died, giving her an absolution he was not qualified to give.  Deliberately he pushed that memory away and made himself dwell on the other explosion—the time he was blown overboard after old Alban Caradoc had lost his legs.  That time he had also had the same ringing in his ears and the same pain and soundlessness, but his hearing had returned after a few days.

There’s no need to worry, he told himself.  Not yet.

He could see the length of the sun’s shadows and the color of the light.  It’s a little after dawn, he thought, and blessed God again that his sight was undamaged.

He saw the doctor’s lips move but no sound came through the ringing turbulence.

Carefully he felt his face and mouth and jaws.  No pain there and no wounds.  Next his throat and arms and chest.  No wounds yet.  Now he willed his hands lower, over his loins, to his manhood.  But he was not mutilated there as Alban Caradoc had been, and he blessed God that he had not been harmed there and left alive to know, as poor Alban Caradoc had known.

He rested a moment, his head aching abominably.  Then he felt his legs and feet.  Everything seemed all right.  Cautiously he put his hands over his ears and pressed, then half opened his mouth and swallowed and half yawned to try to clear his ears.  But this only increased the pain.

You will wait a day and half a day, he ordered himself, and ten times that time if need be and, until then, you will not be afraid.

The doctor touched him, his lips moving.

‘Can’t hear, so sorry,’ Blackthorne said calmly, hearing his words only in his head.

The doctor nodded and spoke again.  Now Blackthorne read on the man’s lips, I understand.  Please sleep now.

But Blackthorne knew that he would not sleep.  He had to plan.  He had to get up and leave Osaka and go to Nagasaki—to get gunners and seamen to take the Black Ship.  There was nothing more to think about, nothing more to remember.  There was no more reason to play at being samurai or Japanese.  Now he was released, all debts and friendships were canceled.  Because she was gone.

Again he lifted his head and again the blinding pain.  He dominated it and sat up.  The room spun and he vaguely remembered that in his dreams he had been back at Anjiro in the earthquake when the earth had twisted and he leaped into it to save Toranaga and her from being swallowed by the earth.  He could still feel the cold, clammy wetness and smell the death stench coming from the fissure, Toranaga huge and monstrous and laughing in his dream.

He forced his eyes to see.  The room stopped spinning and the nausea passed.  ‘Cha, dozo,’ he said, the taste of gunpowder back again.  Hands helped him to drink and then he held out his arms and they helped him to stand.  Without them he would have fallen.  His body was one great hurt, but now he was sure that nothing was broken inside or out, except his ears, and that rest and massage and time would cure him.  He thanked God again that he was not blinded or mutilated and left alive.  The Grays helped him to sit again and he lay back a moment.  He did not notice that the sun moved a quadrant from the time he lay back to the time he opened his eyes.

Curious, he thought, measuring the sun’s shadow, not realizing he had slept.  I could have sworn it was near dawn.  My eyes are playing me tricks.  It’s nearer the end of the forenoon watch now.  That reminded him of Alban Caradoc and his hands moved over himself once more to make sure he had not dreamed that he was unhurt.

Someone touched him and he looked up.  Yabu was peering down at him and speaking.

‘So sorry,’ Blackthorne said slowly.  ‘Can’t hear yet, Yabu-san.  Soon all right.  Ears hurt, do you understand?’

He saw Yabu nod and frown.  Yabu and the doctor talked together and then, with signs, Yabu made Blackthorne understand that he would return soon and to rest until he did.  He left.

‘Bath, please, and massage,’ Blackthorne said.

Hands lifted him and took him there.  He slept under the soothing fingers, his body wallowing in the ecstasy of warmth and tenderness and the sweet-smelling oils that were rubbed into his flesh.  And all the while his mind planned.

While he slept Grays came and lifted the litter bed and carried it to the inner quarters of the donjon, but he did not awaken, drugged with fatigue and by the healing, sleep-filled potion.

‘He’ll be safe now, Lady,’ Ishido said.

‘From Kiyama?’ Ochiba asked.

‘From all Christians.’  Ishido motioned to the guards to be very alert and led the way out of the room to the hallway, thence to a garden basking in the sun.

‘Is that why the Lady Achiko was killed?  Because she was Christian?’

Ishido had ordered it in case she was an assassin planted by her grandfather Kiyama to kill Blackthorne.  ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said.

‘They hang together like bees in a swarm.  How can anyone believe their religious nonsense?’

‘I don’t know.  But they’ll all be stamped out soon enough.’

‘How, Lord General?  How do you do that when so much depends on their goodwill?’

‘Promises—until Toranaga’s dead.  Then they’ll fall on each other.  We divide and rule.  Isn’t that what Toranaga does, what the Lord Taikō did?  Kiyama wants the Kwanto, neh?  For the Kwanto he’ll obey.  So he’s promised it, in a future time.  Onoshi?  Who knows what that madman wants . . . except to spit on Toranaga’s head and Kiyama’s before he dies.’

‘And what if Kiyama finds out about your promise to Onoshi—that all Kiyama lands are his—or that you mean to keep your promise to Zataki and not to him?’

‘Lies, Lady, spread by enemies.’  Ishido looked at her.  ‘Onoshi wants Kiyama’s head.  Kiyama wants the Kwanto.  So does Zataki.’

‘And you, Lord General?  What is it you want?’

‘First the Heir safely fifteen, then safely ruler of the realm.  And you and him safe and protected until that time.  Nothing more.’

‘Nothing?’

‘No, Lady.’

Liar, Ochiba thought.  She broke off a fragrant flower and smelled the perfume, and, pleased by it, offered it to him.  ‘Lovely, neh?‘

‘Yes, lovely,’ Ishido said, taking it.  ‘Thank you.’

‘Yodoko-sama’s funeral was beautiful.  You’re to be congratulated, Lord General.’

‘I’m sorry she’s dead,’ Ishido said politely.  ‘Her counsel was always valuable.’

They strolled a while.  ‘Have they left yet?  Kiritsubo-san and the Lady Sazuko and her son?’ Ochiba asked.

‘No.  They’ll leave tomorrow.  After Lady Toda’s funeral.  Many will leave tomorrow, which is bad.’

‘So sorry, but does it matter?  Now that we all agree Toranaga-sama’s not coming here?’

‘I think so.  But it’s not important, not while we hold Osaka Castle.  No, Lady, we have to be patient as Kiyama suggested.  We wait until the day.  Then we march.’

‘Why wait?  Can’t you march now?’

‘It will take time to gather our hosts.’

‘How many will oppose Toranaga?’

‘Three hundred thousand men.  At least three times Toranaga’s number.’

‘And my garrison?’

‘I’ll leave eighty thousand elite within the walls, another fifty at the passes.’

‘And Zataki?’

‘He’ll betray Toranaga.  In the end he’ll betray him.’

‘You don’t find it curious that Lord Sudara, my sister, and all her children are visiting Takato?’

‘No.  Of course Zataki’s pretended to make some secret arrangement with his half brother.  But it’s only a trick, nothing more.  He will betray him.’

‘He should—he has the same rotten bloodline,’ she said with distaste.  ‘But I would be most upset if anything happened to my sister and her children.’

‘Nothing will, Lady.  I’m sure.’

‘If Zataki was prepared to assassinate his own mother . . . neh?  You’re certain he won’t betray you?’

‘No.  Not in the end.  Because he hates Toranaga more than he does me, Lady, and he honors you and desires the Kwanto above all else.’  Ishido smiled at the floors soaring above them.  ‘As long as the castle’s ours and the Kwanto exists to give away, there’s nothing to fear.’

‘This morning I was afraid,’ she said, holding a flower to her nose, enjoying the perfume, wanting it to erase the aftertaste of fear that still lingered.  ‘I wanted to rush away but then I remembered the soothsayer.’

‘Eh?  Oh, him.  I’d forgotten about him,’ Ishido said with grim amusement.  This was the soothsayer, the Chinese envoy, who had foretold that the Taikō would die in his bed leaving a healthy son after him, that Toranaga would die by the sword in middle age, that Ishido would die in old age, the most famous general in the realm, his feet firm in the earth.  And that the Lady Ochiba would end her days at Osaka Castle, surrounded by the greatest nobles in the Empire.

‘Yes,’ Ishido said again, ‘I’d forgotten about him.  Toranaga’s middle-aged, neh?‘

‘Yes.’  Again Ochiba felt the depth of his look and her loins melted at the thought of a real man on her, in her, surrounding her, taking her, giving her a new life within.  This time an honorable birthing, not like the last one, when she had wondered in horror what the child would be like and look like.

How foolish you are, Ochiba, she told herself, as they walked the shaded, fragrant paths.  Put away those silly nightmares—that’s all they ever were.  You were thinking about a man.

Suddenly Ochiba wished that Toranaga was here beside her and not Ishido, that Toranaga was master of Osaka Castle and master of the Taikō’s treasure, Protector of the Heir and Chief General of the Armies of the West, and not Ishido.  Then there would be no problems.  Together they would possess the realm, all of it, and now, today, at this moment, she would beckon him to bed or to an inviting glade and tomorrow or the next day they would marry, and whatever happened in the future, today she would possess and be possessed and be at peace.

Her hand reached out and she pulled a branchlet toward her, breathing the sweet, rich gardenia fragrance.

Put away dreams, Ochiba, she told herself.  Be a realist like the Taikō—or Toranaga.

‘What are you going to do with the Anjin-san?’ she asked.

Ishido laughed.  ‘Hold him safe—let him take the Black Ship perhaps, or use him as a threat against Kiyama and Onoshi if need be.  They both hate him, neh?  Oh yes, he’s a sword at their throats—and at their filthy Church.’

‘In the chess game of the Heir against Toranaga, how would you judge the Anjin-san’s value, Lord General?  A pawn?  A knight, perhaps?’

‘Ah, Lady, in the Great Game barely a pawn,’ Ishido said at once.  ‘But in the game of the Heir against the Christians, a castle, easily a castle, perhaps two.’

‘You don’t think the games are interlocked?’

‘Yes, interlocked, but the Great Game will be settled by daimyo against daimyo, samurai against samurai, and sword against sword.  Of course, in both games, you’re the queen.’

‘No, Lord General, please excuse me, not a queen,’ she said, glad that he realized it.  Then, to be safe, she changed the subject.  ‘Rumor has it that the Anjin-san and Mariko-san pillowed together.’

‘Yes.  Yes, I heard that too.  You wish to know the truth about it?’

Ochiba shook her head.  ‘It would be unthinkable that that had happened.’

Ishido was watching her narrowly.  ‘You think there’d be a value in destroying her honor?  Now?  And along with her, Buntaro-san?’

‘I meant nothing, Lord General, nothing like that.  I was just wondering just a woman’s foolishness.  But it’s as Lord Kiyama said this morning—dark summer’s tears, sad, so sad, neh?‘

‘I preferred your poem, Lady.  I promise you Toranaga’s side will have the tears.’

‘As to Buntaro-san, perhaps neither he nor Lord Hiro-matsu will fight for Lord Toranaga at the battle.’

‘That’s fact?’

‘No, Lord General, not fact, but possible.’

‘But there’s something you can do perhaps?’

‘Nothing, except petition their support for the Heir—and all Toranaga’s generals, once the battle is committed.’

‘It’s committed now, a north-south pincer movement and the final onslaught at Odawara.’

‘Yes, but not actually.  Not until army opposes army on the battlefield.’  Then she asked, ‘So sorry, but are you sure it’s wise for the Heir to lead the armies?’

‘I will lead the armies, but the Heir must be present.  Then Toranaga cannot win.  Even Toranaga will never attack the Heir’s standard.’

‘Wouldn’t it be safer for the Heir to stay here—because of assassins, the Amidas. . . . We can’t risk his life.  Toranaga has a long arm, neh?‘

‘Yes.  But not that long and the Heir’s personal standard makes our side lawful and Toranaga’s unlawful.  I know Toranaga.  In the end he’ll respect the law.  And that alone will put his head on a spike.  He’s dead, Lady.  Once he’s dead I will stamp out the Christian Church—all of it.  Then you and the Heir will be safe.’

Ochiba looked up at him, an unspoken promise in her eyes.  ‘I will pray for success—and your safe return.’

His chest tightened.  He had waited so long.  ‘Thank you, Lady, thank you,’ he said, understanding her.  ‘I will not fail you.’

She bowed and turned away.  What impertinence, she was thinking.  As if I’d take a peasant to husband.  Now, should I really discard Toranaga?

Dell’Aqua was kneeling at prayer in front of the altar in the ruins of the little chapel.  Most of the roof was caved in and part of one wall, but the earthquake had not damaged the chancel and nothing had touched the lovely stained glass window, or the carved Madonna that was his pride.

The afternoon sun was slanting through the broken rafters.  Outside, workmen were already shifting rubble from the garden, repairing and talking and, mixed with their chattering, dell’Aqua could hear the cries of the gulls coming ashore and he smelled a tang to the breeze, part salt and part smoke, seaweed and mud flats.  The scent bore him home to his estate outside Naples where, mixed with sea smells, would be the perfume of lemons and oranges and warm new breads cooking, and pasta and garlic and abbacchio roasting over the coals, and, in the great villa, the voices of his mother and brothers and sisters and their children, all happy and jolly and alive, basking in golden sunshine.

Oh, Madonna, let me go home soon, he prayed.  I’ve been away too long.  From home and from the Vatican.  Madonna, take thy burden off me.  Forgive me but I’m sick to death of Japanese and Ishido and killing and raw fish and Toranaga and Kiyama and rice Christians and trying to keep Thy Church alive.  Give me Thy strength.

And protect us from Spanish bishops.  Spaniards do not understand Japan or Japanese.  They will destroy what we have begun for Thy glory.  And forgive Thy servant, the Lady Maria, and take her into Thy keeping.  Watch over. . . .’

He heard someone come into the nave.  When he had finished his prayers, he got up and turned around.

‘So sorry to interrupt you, Eminence,’ Father Soldi said, ‘but you wanted to know at once.  There’s an express cipher from Father Alvito.  From Mishima.  The pigeon’s just arrived.’

‘And?’

‘He just says he’ll see Toranaga today.  Last night was impossible because Toranaga was away from Mishima but he’s supposed to return at noon today.  The cipher’s dated dawn this morning.’

Dell’Aqua tried to stifle his disappointment, then looked at the clouds and the weather, seeking reassurance.  News of the ninja attack and Mariko’s death had been sent off to Alvito at dawn, the same message by two pigeons for safety.

‘The news will be there by now,’ Soldi said.

‘Yes.  Yes, I hope so.’

Del’Aqua led the way out of the chapel, along the cloisters, toward his offices.  Soldi, small and birdlike, had to hurry to keep up with the Father-Visitor’s great strides.  ‘There’s something else of extreme importance, Eminence,’ Soldi said.  ‘Our informants report that just after dawn the Regents voted for war.’

Dell’Aqua stopped.  ‘War?’

‘It seems they’re convinced now Toranaga will never come to Osaka, or the Emperor.  So they’ve decided jointly to go against the Kwanto.’

‘No mistake?’

‘No, Eminence.  It’s war.  Kiyama has just sent word through Brother Michael which confirms our other source.  Michael’s just come back from the castle.  The vote was unanimous.’

‘How soon?’

‘The moment they know for certain that the Emperor’s not coming here.’

‘The war will never stop.  God have mercy on us!  And bless Mariko—at least Kiyama and Onoshi were forewarned of Toranaga’s perfidy.’

‘What about Onoshi, Eminence?  What about his perfidy against Kiyama?’

‘I’ve no proof of that, Soldi.  It’s too farfetched.  I can’t believe Onoshi would do that.’

‘But if he does, Eminence?’

‘It’s not possible just now, even if it was planned.  Now they need each other.’

‘Until the demise of Lord Toranaga. . . .’

‘You don’t have to remind me about the enmity of those two, or the lengths they’ll go to—God forgive both of them.’  He walked on again.

Soldi caught up with him.  ‘Should I send this information to Father Alvito?’

‘No.  Not yet.  First I have to decide what to do.  Toranaga will learn of it soon enough from his own sources.  God take this land into His keeping and have mercy on all of us.’

Soldi opened the door for the Father-Visitor.  ‘The only other matter of importance is that the Council has formally refused to let us have the Lady Maria’s body.  She’s to have a state funeral tomorrow and we are not invited.’

‘That’s to be expected, but it’s splendid that they want to honor her like that.  Send one of our people to fetch part of her ashes—that will be allowed.  The ashes will be buried in hallowed ground at Nagasaki.’  He straightened a picture automatically and sat behind his desk.  ‘I’ll say a Requiem for her here—the full Requiem there with all the pomp and ceremony we can muster when her remains are formally interred.  She’ll be buried in cathedral grounds as a most blessed daughter of the Church.  Arrange a plaque, employ the finest artists, calligrapher—everything must be perfect.’

‘Yes, Eminence.’

‘Her blessed courage and self-sacrifice will be an enormous encouragement to our flock.  Very important, Soldi.’

‘And Kiyama’s granddaughter, Sire?  The authorities will let us have her body.  He insisted.’

‘Good.  Then her remains should be sent to Nagasaki at once.  I’ll consult Kiyama about how important he wishes to make her funeral.’

‘You will conduct the service, Eminence?’

‘Yes, providing it’s possible for me to leave here.’

‘Lord Kiyama would be very pleased with that honor.’

‘Yes—but we must make sure her service doesn’t detract from the Lady Maria’s.  Maria’s is politically very, very important.’

‘Of course, Eminence.  I quite understand.’

Dell’Aqua studied his secretary.  ‘Why don’t you trust Onoshi?’

‘Sorry, Eminence—probably it’s because he’s a leper and petrifies me.  I apologize.’

‘Apologize to him, Soldi, he’s not to blame for his disease,’ dell’Aqua said.  ‘We’ve no proof about the plot.’

‘The other things the Lady said were true.  Why not this?’

‘We have no proof.  It’s all surmise.’

‘Yes, surmise.’

Dell’Aqua moved the glass decanter, watching the refracting light.  ‘At my prayers I smelled the orange blossoms and new breads and, oh, how I wanted to go home.’

Soldi sighed. ‘I dream of abbacchio, Eminence, and of meats pizzaiola and a flagon of Lacrima Christi and . . . God forgive me the hungers of hunger!  Soon we can go home, Eminence.  Next year.  By next year everything will be settled here.’

‘Nothing will be settled by next year.  This war will hurt us.  It will hurt the Church and the faithful terribly.’

‘No, Eminence.  Kyushu will be Christian whoever wins,’ Soldi said confidently, wanting to cheer up his superior.  ‘This island can wait for God’s good time.  There’s more than enough to do in Kyushu, Eminence, isn’t there?  Three million souls to convert, half a million of the faithful to minister to.  Then there’s Nagasaki and trade.  They must have trade.  Ishido and Toranaga will tear themselves to pieces.  What does that matter?  They’re both anti-Christ, pagans and murderers.’

‘Yes.  But unfortunately what happens in Osaka and Yedo controls Kyushu.  What to do, what to do?’  Dell’Aqua pushed his melancholy away.  ‘What about the Ingeles?  Where’s he now?’

‘Still, under guard in the donjon.’

‘Leave me for a while, old friend, I have to think.  I have to decide what to do.  Finally.  The Church is in great danger.’  Dell’Aqua looked out the windows into the forecourt.  Then he saw Friar Perez approaching.

Soldi went to the door to intercept the monk.  ‘No,’ the FatherVisitor said.  ‘I’ll see him now.’

‘Ah, Eminence, good afternoon,’ Friar Perez said, scratching unconsciously.  ‘You wanted to see me?’

‘Yes.  Please fetch the letter, Soldi.’

‘I heard your chapel was destroyed,’ the monk said.

‘Damaged.  Please sit down.’  Dell’Aqua sat in his high-backed chair behind the desk, the monk opposite him.  ‘No one was hurt, thanks be to God.  Within a few days it’ll be new again.  What about your Mission?’

‘Untouched,’ the monk said with open satisfaction.  ‘There were fires all around us after the tremors and many died but we weren’t touched.  The Eye of God watches over us.’  Then he added cryptically, ‘I hear heathens were murdering heathens in the castle last night.’

‘Yes.  One of our most important converts, the Lady Maria, was killed in the melee.’

‘Ah yes, I got reports too.  ‘Kill him, Yoshinaka,’ the Lady Maria said, and started the bloodbath.  I heard she even tried to kill a few herself, before she committed suicide.’

Dell’Aqua flushed.  ‘You don’t understand anything about the Japanese after all this time, and you even speak a little of their language.’

‘I understand heresy, stupidity, killing, and political interference, and I speak the pagan tongue very well.  I understand a lot about these heathens.’

‘But not about manners.’

‘The Word of God requires none.  It is the Word.  Oh, yes.  I also understand about adultery.  What do you think of adultery—and harlots, Eminence?’

The door opened.  Soldi offered dell’Aqua the Pope’s letter, then left them.

The Father-Visitor gave the paper to the monk, savoring his victory.  ‘This is from His Holiness.  It arrived yesterday by special messenger from Macao.’

The monk took the Papal Order and read it.  This commanded, with the formal agreement of the King of Spain, that all priests of all religious orders were in future to travel to Japan only via Lisbon, Goa, and Macao, that all were forbidden on pain of immediate excommunication to go from Manila direct to Japan, and that lastly, all priests, other than Jesuits, were to leave Japan at once for Manila whence they could, if their superiors wished, return to Japan, but only via Lisbon, Goa, and Macao.

Friar Perez scrutinized the seal and the signature and the date, reread the Order carefully, then laughed derisively and shoved the letter on the desk.  ‘I don’t believe it!’

‘That’s an Order from His Holiness the—’

‘It’s another heresy against the Brethren of God, against us, or any mendicants who carry the Word to the heathen.  With this device we’re forbidden Japan forever, because the Portuguese, abetted by certain people, will prevaricate forever and never grant us passage or visas.  If this is genuine it only proves what we’ve been saying for years:  Jesuits can subvert even the Vicar of Christ in Rome!’

Dell’Aqua held onto his temper.  ‘You’re ordered to leave.  Or you will be excommunicated.’

‘Jesuit threats are meaningless, Eminence.  You don’t speak with the Tongue of God, you never have, you never will.  You’re not soldiers of Christ.  You serve a Pope, Eminence, a man.  You’re politicians, men of the earth, men of the fleshpots with your pagan silks and lands and power and riches and influence.  The Lord Jesus Christ came to earth in the guise of a simple man who scratched and went barefoot and stank.  I will never leave—nor will my Brothers!’

Dell’Aqua had never been so angry in his life.  ‘You-will-leave-Japan!’

‘Before God, I won’t!  But this is the last time I’ll come here.  If you want me in future, come to our Holy Mission, come and minister to the poor and the sick and the unwanted, like Christ did.  Wash their feet like Christ did, and save your own soul before it’s too late.’

‘You are commanded on pain of excommunication to leave Japan at once.’

‘Come now, Eminence, I’m not excommunicated and never will be.  Of course I accept the document, unless it’s out of date.  This is dated September 16, 1598, almost two years ago.  It must be checked, it’s far too important to accept at once—and that will take four years at least.’

‘Of course it’s not out of date!’

‘You’re wrong.  As God is my judge, I believe it is.  In a few weeks, at the most a few months, we’ll have an Archbishop of Japan at long last.  A Spanish Bishop!  The letters I have from Manila report the Royal Warrant’s expected by every mail.’

‘Impossible!  This is Portuguese territory and our province!’

‘It was Portuguese.  It was Jesuit.  But that’s all changed now.  With the help of our Brothers and Divine Guidance, the King of Spain has overthrown your General in Rome.’

‘That’s nonsense.  Lies and rumors.  On your immortal soul, obey the commands of the Vicar of Christ.’

‘I will.  I will write to him today, I promise you.  Meanwhile, expect a Spanish Bishop, a Spanish Viceroy, and a new Captain of the Black Ship—also a Spaniard!  That’s also to be part of the Royal Warrant.  We have friends in high places too and, at long last, they have vanquished the Jesuits, once and for all!  Go with God, Eminence.’  Friar Perez got up, opened the door, and went away.

In the outer office Soldi watched him leave, then hastily came back into the room.  Frightened by dell’Aqua’s color, he hurried to the decanter and poured some brandy.  ‘Eminence?’

Dell’Aqua shook his head and continued to stare sightlessly into the distance.  For the past year there there had been disquieting news from their delegates to the Court of Philip of Spain at Madrid about the growing influence of the enemies of the Society.

‘It’s not true, Eminence.  Spaniards can’t come here.  It can’t be true.’

‘It can be true, easily.  Too easily.’  Dell’Aqua touched the Papal Order.  ‘This Pope may be dead, our General dead . . . even the King of Spain.  Meanwhile . . .’  He got to his feet and stood at his full height.  ‘Meanwhile we’ll prepare for the worst and pray for help and do the best we can.  Send Brother Michael to fetch Kiyama here at once.’

‘Yes, Eminence.  But Kiyama’s never been here before.  Surely it’s unlikely he would come now?’

‘Tell Michael to use any words necessary, but he’s to bring Kiyama here before sunset.  Next, send the war news to Martin at once, to be passed to Toranaga at once.  You write the details but I want to send a private cipher with it.  Next, send someone to fetch Ferriera here.’

‘Yes, Eminence.  But about Kiyama, surely Michael won’t be able—’

‘Tell Michael to order him here, in God’s name if necessary!  We’re Soldiers of Christ, we’re going to war—to God’s war!  Hurry up!’