Shogun

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wakarimasu ka, Fujiko-san?” he asked her.

“Wakarimasu, Anjin-san,” she replied in a thin, nervous voice.

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

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

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

The samurai obeyed. They stopped.

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

Blackthorne waited.

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

“Ugoku na!” she ordered.

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

“What did he say?” Blackthorne asked.

“Only that he would report this incident to Yabu-san.”

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

“Anjin-san!” Fujiko called out.

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

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

“What’s going on?”

“Please be patient, Anjin-san.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She lowered her eyes and replied softly. Mariko translated.

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

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

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

Omi finished talking.

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

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

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

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

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