rains obscured his ship and he climbed a little way. “After we’ve talked with Lord Toranaga we’ll have to wait till this has passed. Perhaps there’d be somewhere here we could talk?”
“That might be difficult,” she said vaguely, and he found this odd. She was usually decisive and implemented his polite “suggestions” as the orders they would normally be considered. “Please excuse me, Anjin-san, but things are difficult for me at the moment, and there are many things I have to do.” She stopped momentarily and shifted her parasol to her other hand, holding the hem of her skirt. “How was your evening? How were your friends, your crew?”
“Fine. Everything was fine,” he said.
“But not ‘fine’?” she asked.
“Fine—but very strange.” He looked back at her. “You notice everything, don’t you?”
“No, Anjin-san. But you didn’t mention them and you’ve been thinking about them greatly this last week or so. I’m no magician. So sorry.”
After a pause, he said, “You’re sure you’re all right? There’s no problem with Buntaro-san, is there?”
He had never discussed Buntaro with her or mentioned his name since Yokose. By agreement that specter was never conjured up by either of them since the first moment. “This is my only request, Anjin-san,” she had whispered the first night. “Whatever happens during our journey to Mishima or, Madonna willing, to Yedo, this has nothing to do with anyone but us,
“I agree. I swear it.”
“And I do likewise. Finally, our journey ends at Yedo’s First Bridge.”
“No.”
“There must be an ending, my darling. At First Bridge our journey ends. Please, or I will die with agony over fear for you and the danger I have put you in.?.?.?.”
Yesterday morning he had stood at the threshold of First Bridge, a sudden weight on his spirit, in spite of his elation over
“We should cross the bridge now, Anjin-san,” she had said.
“Yes. But it is only a bridge. One of many. Come along, Mariko-san. Walk beside me across
She stepped out of her palanquin and walked beside him until they reached the other side. There she got back into the curtained litter and they went up the slight rise. Buntaro was waiting at the castle gate.
Blackthorne remembered how he had prayed for a lightning bolt to come out of the sky.
“There’s no problem with him, is there?” he asked again as they came to the final landing.
She shook her head.
Toranaga said, “Ship very ready, Anjin-san? No mistake?”
“No mistake, Sire. Ship perfect.”
“How many extra men—how many more want for ship?.?.?.” Toranaga glanced at Mariko. “Please ask him how many extra crew he’ll need to sail the ship properly. I want to be quite sure he understands what I want to know.”
“The Anjin-san says, to sail her a minimum of thirty seamen and twenty gunners. His original crew was one hundred and seven, including cooks and merchants. To sail and fight in these waters, the complement of two hundred samurai would be enough.”
“And he believes the other men he needs could be hired in Nagasaki?”
“Yes, Sire.”
Toranaga said distastefully, “I certainly wouldn’t trust mercenaries.”
“Please excuse me, do you wish me to translate that, Sire?”
“What? Oh no, never mind that.”
Toranaga got up, still pretending peevishness, and looked out of the windows at the rain. The whole city was obscured by the downpour. Let it rain for months, he thought. All gods, make the rain last until New Year. When will Buntaro see my brother? “Tell the Anjin-san I’ll give him his vassals tomorrow. Today’s terrible. This rain will go on all day. There’s no point in getting soaked.”
“Yes, Sire,” he heard her say and smiled ironically to himself. Never in his whole life had weather prevented him from doing anything. That should certainly convince her, or any other doubters, that I’ve changed permanently for the worse, he thought, knowing he could not yet diverge from his chosen course. “Tomorrow or the next day, what does it matter? Tell him when I’m ready I’ll send for him. Until then he’s to wait in the castle.”
He heard her pass on the orders to the Anjin-san.
“Yes, Lord Toranaga, I understand,” Blackthorne replied for himself. “But may I respectfully ask: Possible go Nagasaki quick? Think important. So sorry.”
“I’ll decide that later,” Toranaga said brusquely, not making it easy for him. He motioned him to leave. “Good-by, Anjin-san. I’ll decide your future soon.” He saw that the man wanted to press the point but politely didn’t. Good, he thought, at least he’s learning some manners! “Tell the Anjin-san there’s no need for him to wait for you, Mariko-san. Good-by, Anjin-san.”
Mariko did as she was ordered. Toranaga turned back to contemplate the city and the cloudburst. He listened to the sound of the rain. The door closed behind the Anjin-san. “What was the quarrel about?” Toranaga asked, not looking at her.
“Sire?”
His ears, carefully tuned, had caught the slightest tremble in her voice. “Of course between Buntaro and yourself, or have you had another quarrel that concerns me?” he added with biting sarcasm, needing to precipitate the matter quickly. “With the Anjin-san perhaps, or my Christian enemies, or the Tsukku-san?”
“No, Sire. Please excuse me. It began as always, like most quarrels, Sire, between husband and wife. Really over nothing. Then suddenly, as always, all the past gets spewed up and it infects the man and the woman if the mood’s on them.”
“And the mood was on you?”
“Yes. Please excuse me. I provoked my husband unmercifully. It was my fault entirely. I regret, Sire, in those times, so sorry, people say wild things.”
“Come on, hurry up, what wild things?” She was like a doe at bay. Her face was chalky. She knew that spies must have already whispered to him what was shouted in the quiet of their house.
She told him everything that had been said as best she could remember it. Then she added, “I believe my husband’s words were spoken in wild rage which I provoked. He’s loyal—I know he’s loyal. If anyone is to be punished it’s me, Sire. I did provoke the madness.”
Toranaga sat again on the cushion, his back ramrod, his face granite. “What did the Lady Genjiko say?”
“I haven’t spoken to her, Sire.”
“But you intend to, or intended to,
“No, Sire. With your permission I intend to leave at once for Osaka.”
“You will leave when I say and not before and treason is a foul beast wherever it’s to be found!”
She bowed under the whiplash of his tongue. “Yes, Sire. Please forgive me. The fault is mine.”
He rang a small hand bell. The door opened. Naga stood there. “Yes, Sire?”
“Order the Lord Sudara here with the Lady Genjiko at once.”
“Yes, Sire.” Naga turned to go.
“Wait! Then summon my Council, Yabu and all—and all senior generals. They’re to be here at midnight. And clear this floor. All guards! You come back with Sudara!”
“Yes, Sire.” Whitefaced, Naga closed the door after him.
Toranaga heard men clattering down the stairs. He went to the door and opened it. The landing was clear. He slammed the door and bolted it. He picked up another bell and rang it. An inner door at the far end of the room opened. This door was hardly noticeable, so cleverly had it been melded with the woodwork. A middle-aged heavy- set woman stood there. She wore a cowled Buddhist nun’s habit. “Yes, Great Lord?”
“Cha please, Chano-chan,” he said. The door closed. Toranaga’s eyes went back to Mariko. “So you think he’s loyal?”
