Shogun

“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.”

Dell’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