Shogun

“Yes, that is what we teach. But her marriage was Shinto, not consecrated before the Lord our God, so is it adultery?”

“Do you also question the Word? Are you infected by Joseph’s heresy?”

“No, Father, please excuse me, never the Word. Only what man has made of it.”

From then on he had watched more closely. Clearly the man and woman liked each other greatly. Why shouldn’t they? Nothing wrong in that! Constantly thrown together, each learning from the other, the woman ordered to put away her religion, the man having none, or only a patina of the Lutheran heresy as dell’Aqua had said was true of all Englishmen. Both strong, vital people, however ill-matched.

At confession she said nothing. He did not press her. Her eyes told him nothing and everything, but never was there anything real to judge. He could hear himself explaining to dell’Aqua, ‘Michael must have been mistaken, Eminence.’

‘But did she commit adultery? Was there any proof?’

‘Thankfully, no proof.’

Alvito reined in and turned back momentarily. He saw her standing on the slight rise, the Pilot talking to Yoshinaka, the old madam and her painted whore lying in their palanquin. He was tormented by the fanatic zeal welling up inside him. For the first time he dared to ask, Have you whored with the Pilot, Mariko-san? Has the heretic damned your soul for all eternity? You, who were chosen in life to be a nun and probably our first native abbess? Are you living in foul sin, unconfessed, desecrated, hiding your sacrilege from your confessor, and thus are you too befouled before God?

He saw her wave. This time he did not acknowledge it but turned his back, jabbed his spurs into his horse’s flanks, and hurried away.

That night their sleep was disturbed.

“What is it, my love?”

“Nothing, Mariko-chan. Go back to sleep.”

But she did not. Nor did he. Long before she had to, she slipped back into her own room, and he got up and sat in the courtyard studying the dictionary under candlelight until dawn. When the sun came and the day warmed, their night cares vanished and they continued their journey peacefully. Soon they reached the great trunk road, the Tokaido, just east of Mishima, and travelers became more numerous. The vast majority were, as always, on foot, their belongings on their backs. There were a few pack horses on the road and no carriages at all.

“Oh, carriage—that’s something with wheels, neh? They’re of no use in Japan, Anjin-san. Our roads are too steep and always crisscrossed with rivers and streams. Wheels would also ruin the surface of the roads, so they are forbidden to everyone except the Emperor, and he travels a few ceremonial ri in Kyoto on a special road. We don’t need wheels. How can you carry vehicles over a river or stream—and there are too many, far too many to bridge. There are perhaps sixty streams to cross between here and Yedo, Anjin-san. How many have we already had to cross? Dozens, neh? No, we all walk or ride horseback. Of course horses and palanquins particularly are allowed only for important persons, daimyos and samurai, and not even all samurai.”

“What? Even if you can afford one you can’t hire one?”

“Not unless you’ve the correct rank, Anjin-san. That’s very wise, don’t you think? Doctors and the very old can travel by horse or palanquin, or the very sick, if they get permission in writing from their liege lord. Palanquins or horses wouldn’t be right for peasants and commoners, Anjin-san. That could teach them lazy habits, neh? It’s much more healthy for them to walk.”

“Also it keeps them in their place. Neh?”

“Oh, yes. But that all makes for peace and orderliness and wa. Only merchants have money to waste, and what are they but parasites who create nothing, grow nothing, make nothing but feed off another’s labor? Definitely they should all walk, neh? In this we are very wise.”

“I’ve never seen so many people on the move,” Blackthorne said.

“Oh, this is nothing. Wait till we get nearer Yedo. We adore to travel, Anjin-san, but rarely alone. We like to travel in groups.”

But the crowds did not inhibit their progress. The Toranaga cipher that their standards carried, Toda Mariko’s personal rank, and the brusque efficiency of Akira Yoshinaka and the runners he sent ahead to proclaim who followed ensured the best private rooms every night at the best inn, and an uninterrupted passage. All other travelers and samurai quickly stood aside and bowed very low, waiting until they had passed.

“Do they all have to stop and kneel like that to everyone?”

“Oh, no, Anjin-san. Only to daimyos and important persons. And to most samurai—yes, that would be a very wise practice for any commoner. It’s polite to do so, Anjin-san, and necessary, neh? Unless the common people respect the samurai and themselves, how can the law be upheld and the realm be governed? Then too, it’s the same for everyone. We stopped and bowed and allowed the Imperial messenger to pass, didn’t we? Everyone must be polite, neh? Lesser daimyos have to dismount and bow to more important ones. Ritual governs our lives, but the realm is obedient.”

“Say two daimyos are equal and they meet?”

“Then both would dismount and bow equally and go their separate ways.”

“Say Lord Toranaga and General Ishido met?”

Mariko turned smoothly to Latin. “Who are they, Anjin-san? Those names I know not, not today, not between thee and me.”

“Thou art correct. Please excuse me.”

“Listen, my love, let us make a promise that if the Madonna smiles on us and we escape from Mishima, only at Yedo, at First Bridge, only when it is completely forced upon us let us leave our private world. Please?”

“What special danger’s in Mishima?”

“There our Captain must submit a report to the Lord Hiro-matsu. There I must see him also. He is a wise man, very vigilant. It would be easy for us to be betrayed.”

“We have been cautious. Let us petition God that thy fears are without merit.”

“For myself I am not concerned—only for thee.”

“And I for thee.”

“Then do we promise, one to another, to stay within our private world?”

“Yes. Let us pretend it is the real world—our only world.”

“There’s Mishima, Anjin-san.” Mariko pointed across the last stream.

The sprawling castle city which housed nearly sixty thousand people was mostly obscured by morning’s low- lying mist. Only a few house tops and the stone castle were discernible. Beyond were mountains that ran down to the western sea. Far to the northwest was the glory of Mount Fuji. North and east the mountain range encroached on the sky. “What now?”

“Now Yoshinaka’s been asked to find the liveliest inn within ten ri. We’ll stay there two days. It will take me at least that to complete my business. Gyoko and Kiku-san will be leaving us for that time.”

“Then?”

“Then we go on. What does your weather sense tell you about Mishima?”

“That it’s friendly and safe,” he replied. “After Mishima, what then?”

She pointed northeast, unconvinced. “Then we’ll go that way. There’s a pass that curls up through the mountains toward Hakone. It’s the most grueling part of the whole Tokaido Road. After that the road falls away to the city of Odawara, which is much bigger than Mishima, Anjin-san. It’s on the coast. From there to Yedo is only a matter of time.”

“How much time?”

“Not enough.”

“You’re wrong, my love, so sorry,” he said. “There’s all the time in the world.”