Shogun

enemy fleet?”

“No.”

“I’d like to know that truth, because inbound, my ship will be wallowing like a fat pig, her holds bulging with more silks than have ever been sent at one time. We’re one of the biggest ships in the world but I’ve no escort, so if a single enemy frigate were to catch us at sea—or that Dutch whore, the Erasmus—we’d be at her mercy. She’d make me haul down the Imperial flag of Portugal with no trouble at all. The Ingeles had better not get his ship to sea, with gunners and cannon and shot aboard.”

“E vero, e solamente vero,” dell’Aqua muttered.

Ferriera finished his wine. “When’s Blackthorne being sent to Izu?”

“Toranaga didn’t say,” Alvito replied. “I got the impression it would be soon.”

“Today?”

“I don’t know. Now the Regents meet in four days. I would imagine it would be after that.”

Dell’Aqua said heavily, “Blackthorne must not be interfered with. Neither he nor Toranaga.”

Ferriera stood up. “I’ll be getting back to my ship. You’ll dine with us? Both of you? At dusk? There’s a fine capon, a joint of beef and Madeira wine, even some new bread.”

“Thank you, you’re very kind.” Dell’Aqua brightened slightly. “Yes, some good food again would be wonderful. You’re very kind.”

“You’ll be informed the instant I have word from Toranaga, Captain-General,” Alvito said.

“Thank you.”

When Ferriera had gone and the Visitor was sure that he and Alvito could not be overheard, he said anxiously, “Martin, what else did Toranaga say?”

“He wants an explanation, in writing, of the gun-running incident, and the request for conquistadores.”

“Mamma mia?.?.?.”

“Toranaga was friendly, even gentle, but—well, I’ve never seen him like this before.”

“What exactly did he say?”

“?‘I understand, Tsukku-san, that the previous head of your order of Christians, Father da Cunha, wrote to the governors of Macao, Goa, and the Spanish Viceroy in Manila, Don Sisco y Vivera, in July of 1588 of your counting, asking for an invasion of hundreds of Spanish soldiers with guns to support some Christian daimyos in a rebellion which the chief Christian priest was trying to incite against their lawful liege lord, my late master, the Taiko. What were the names of these daimyos? Is it true that no soldiers were sent but vast numbers of guns were smuggled into Nagasaki under your Christian seal from Macao? Is it true that the Father-Giant secretly seized these guns when he returned to Japan for the second time, as Ambassador from Goa, in March or April 1590, by your counting, and secretly smuggled them out of Nagasaki on the Portuguese ship, the Santa Cruz, back to Macao?’?” Alvito wiped the sweat off his hands.

“Did he say anything more?”

“Not of importance, Eminence. I had no chance to explain—he dismissed me at once. The dismissal was polite but it was still a dismissal.”

“Where is that cursed Englishman getting his information from?”

“I wish I knew.”

“Those dates and names. You’re not mistaken? He said them exactly like that?”

“No, Eminence. The names were written on a piece of paper. He showed it to me.”

“Blackthorne’s writing?”

“No. The names were written phonetically in Japanese, in hiragana.”

“We’ve got to find out who’s interpreting for Toranaga. He must be astonishingly good. Surely not one of ours? It can’t be Brother Manuel, can it?” he asked bitterly, using Masamanu Jiro’s baptismal name. Jiro was the son of a Christian samurai who had been educated by the Jesuits since childhood and, being intelligent and devout, had been selected to enter the seminary to be trained to be a full priest of the four vows, of which there were none from the Japanese yet. Jiro had been with the Society for twenty years, then, incredibly, he left before being ordained and he was now a violent antagonist of the Church.

“No. Manuel’s still in Kyushu, may he burn in hell forever. He’s still a violent enemy of Toranaga’s, he’d never help him. Fortunately, he was never party to any political secrets. The interpreter was the Lady Maria,” Alvito said, using Toda Mariko’s baptismal name.

“Toranaga told you that?”

“No, your Eminence. But I happen to know that she’s been visiting the castle, and she was seen with the Ingeles.”

“You’re sure?”

“Our information is completely accurate.”

“Good,” dell’Aqua said. “Perhaps God is helping us in His inscrutable fashion. Send for her at once.”

“I’ve already seen her. I made it my business to meet her by chance. She was delightful as always, deferential, pious as always, but she said pointedly before I had an opportunity to question her, ‘Of course, the Empire is a very private land, Father, and some things, by custom, have to stay very private. Is it the same in Portugal, and within the Society of Jesus?’?”

“You’re her confessor.”

“Yes. But she won’t say anything.”

“Why?”

“Clearly she’s been forewarned and forbidden to discuss what happened and what was said. I know them too well. In this, Toranaga’s influence would be greater than ours.”

“Is her faith so small? Has our training of her been so inept? Surely not. She’s as devout and as good a Christian as any woman I’ve ever met. One day she’ll become a nun—perhaps even the first Japanese abbess.”

“Yes. But she will say nothing now.”

“The Church is in jeopardy. This is important, perhaps too important,” dell’Aqua said. “She would understand that. She’s far too intelligent not to realize it.”

“I beg you, do not put her faith to the test in this. We must lose. She warned me. That’s what she was saying as clearly as if it were written down.”

“Perhaps it would be good to put her to the test. For her own salvation.”

“That’s up to you to order or not to order. But I’m afraid that she must obey Toranaga, Eminence, and not us.”

“I will think about Maria. Yes,” dell’Aqua said. He let his eyes drift to the fire, the weight of his office crushing him. Poor Maria. That cursed heretic! How do we avoid the trap? How do we conceal the truth about the guns? How could a Father Superior and Vice-Provincial like da Cunha, who was so well trained, so experienced, with seven years’ practical knowledge in Macao and Japan—how could he make such a hideous mistake?

“How?” he asked the flames.

I can answer, he told himself. It’s too easy. You panic or you forget the glory of God or become pride-filled or arrogant or petrified. Who wouldn’t have, perhaps, under the same circumstances? To be received by the Taiko at sunset with favor, a triumphal meeting with pomp and ceremony—almost like an act of contrition by the Taiko, who was seemingly on the point of converting. And then to be awakened in the middle of the same night with the Taiko’s Expulsion Edicts decreeing that all religious orders were to be out of Japan within twenty days on pain of death, never to return, and worse, that all Japanese converts throughout the land were ordered to recant at once or they would immediately be exiled or put to death.

Driven to despair, the Superior had wildly advised the Kyushu Christian daimyos—Onoshi, Misaki, Kiyama and Harima of Nagasaki among them—to rebel to save the Church and had written frantically for conquistadores to stiffen the revolt.

The fire spluttered and danced in the iron grate. Yes, all true, dell’Aqua thought. If only I’d known, if only da Cunha had consulted me first. But how could he? It takes six months to send a letter to Goa and perhaps another six months for one to return and da Cunha did write immediately but he was the Superior and on his own and had to cope at once with the disaster.

Though dell’Aqua had sailed immediately on receiving the letter, with hastily arranged credentials as