Shōgun (The Asian Saga Book 1)

Erasmus glittered in the high noon sun beside the Yedo wharf, resplendent.

‘Jesus God in Heaven, Mariko, look at her!  Have you ever seen anything like her?  Look at her lines!’

His ship was beyond the closed, encircling barriers a hundred paces away, moored to the dock with new ropes.  The whole area was heavily guarded, more samurai were on deck, and signs everywhere said this was a forbidden area except with Lord Toranaga’s personal permission.

Erasmus had been freshly painted and tarred, her decks were spotless, her hull caulked and her rigging repaired.  Even the foremast that had been carried away in the storm had been replaced with the last of the spares she carried in her hold, and stepped to a perfect angle.  All rope ends were neatly coiled, all cannon gleaming under a protective sheen of oil behind their gun ports.  And the ragged Lion of England fluttered proudly over all.

‘Ahoy!’ he shouted joyfully from outside the barriers, but there was no answering call.  One of the sentries told him there were no barbarians aboard today.

‘Shigata ga nai,‘ Blackthorne said.  ‘Domo.‘  He curbed his soaring impatience to go aboard at once and beamed at Mariko.  ‘It’s as if she’s just come out of a refit at Portsmouth dockyard, Mariko-san.  Look at her cannon—the lads must’ve worked like dogs.  She’s beautiful, neh?  Can’t wait to see Baccus and Vinck and the others.  Never thought I’d find her like that.  Christ Jesus, she looks so pretty, neh?‘

Mariko was watching him and not the ship.  She knew she was forgotten now.  And replaced.

Never mind, she told herself.  Our journey’s over.

This morning they had arrived at the last of the turnpikes on the outskirts of Yedo.  Once more their travel papers were checked.  Once more they were passed through with politeness, but this time a new honor guard was waiting for them.

‘They’re to take us to the castle, Anjin-san.  You’ll stay there, and this evening we’re to meet Lord Toranaga.’

‘Good, then there’s plenty of time.  Look, Mariko-san, the docks aren’t more than a mile off, neh?  My ship’s there somewhere.  Would you ask the Captain Yoshinaka if we can go there, please?’

‘He says, so sorry, but he has no instructions to do that, Anjin-san.  He is to take us to the castle.’

‘Please tell him . . . perhaps I’d better try.  Taicho-san!  Okashira, sukoshi no aida watakushi wa ikitai no desu.  Watakushi no funega asoko ni arimasu.‘  Captain, I want to go there now for a little while.  My ship’s there.

‘Iyé, Anjin-san, gomen nasai.  Ima . . .‘

Mariko had listened approvingly and with amusement as Blackthorne had argued courteously and insisted firmly, and then, reluctantly, Yoshinaka had allowed them to detour, but just for a moment, neh? and only because the Anjin-san claimed hatamoto status, which gave certain inalienable rights, and had pointed out that a quick examination was important to Lord Toranaga, that it would certainly save their lord’s immensely valuable time and was vital to his meeting tonight.  Yes, the Anjin-san may look for a moment, but so sorry, it is of course forbidden to go on the ship without papers signed personally by Lord Toranaga, and it must only be for a moment because we are expected, so sorry.

‘Domo, Taicho-san,’ Blackthorne had said expansively, more than a little pleased with his increased understanding of the correct ways to persuade and his growing command of the language.

Last night and most of yesterday they had spent at an inn barely two ri southward down the road, Yoshinaka allowing them to dawdle as before.

Oh, that was such a lovely night, she thought.

There had been so many lovely days and nights.  All perfect except the first day after leaving Mishima, when Father Tsukku-san caught up with them again and the precarious truce between the two men was ripped asunder.  Their quarrel had been sudden, vicious, fueled by the Rodrigues incident and too much brandy.  Threat and counterthreat and curses and then Father Alvito had spurred on ahead for Yedo, leaving disaster in his wake, the joy of the journey ruined.

‘We must not let this happen, Anjin-san.’

‘But that man had no right—’

‘Oh yes, I agree.  And of course you’re correct.  But please, if you let this incident destroy your harmony, you will be lost and so will I.  Please, I implore you to be Japanese.  Put this incident away—that’s all it is, one incident in ten thousand.  You must not allow it to wreck your harmony.  Put it away into a compartment.’

‘How?  How can I do that?  Look at my hands!  I’m so God-cursed angry I can’t stop them shaking!’

‘Look at this rock, Anjin-san.  Listen to it growing.’

‘What?’

‘Listen to the rock grow, Anjin-san.  Put your mind on that, on the harmony of the rock.  Listen to the kami of the rock.  Listen my love, for thy life’s sake.  And for mine.’

So he had tried and had succeeded just a little and the next day, friends again, lovers again, at peace again, she continued to teach, trying to mold him—without his knowing he was being molded—to the Eightfold Fence, building inner walls and defenses that were his only path to harmony.  And to survival.

‘I’m so glad the priest has gone and won’t come back, Anjin-san.’

‘Yes.’

‘It would have been better if there had been no quarrel.  I’m afraid for you.’

‘Nothing’s different—he always was my enemy, always will be.  Karma is karma.  But don’t forget nothing exists outside us.  Not yet.  Not him or anyone.  Not until Yedo.  Neh?‘

‘Yes.  You are so wise.  And right again.  I’m so happy to be with thee. . . .

Their road from Mishima left the flat lands quickly and wound up the mountain to Hakoné Pass.  They rested there two days atop the mountain, joyous and content, Mount Fuji glorious at sunrise and sunset, her peak obscured by a wreath of clouds.

‘Is the mountain always like that?’

‘Yes, Anjin-san, most always shrouded.  But that makes the sight of Fuji-san, clear and clean, so much more exquisite, neh?  You can climb all the way to the top if you wish.’

‘Let’s do that now!’

‘Not now, Anjin-san.  One day we will.  We must leave something to the future, neh?  We’ll climb Fuji-san in autumn. . . .’

Always there were pretty, private inns down to the Kwanto plains.  And always rivers and streams and rivulets to cross, the sea on the right now.  Their party had meandered northward along the busy, bustling Tokaidō, across the greatest rice bowl in the Empire.  The flat alluvial plains were rich with water, every inch cultivated.  The air was hot and humid now, heavy with the stench of human manure that the farmers moistened with water and ladled onto the plants with loving care.

‘Rice gives us food to eat, Anjin-san, tatamis to sleep on, sandals to walk with, clothes to shut out the rain and the cold, thatch to keep our houses warm, paper for writing.  Without rice we cannot exist.’

‘But the stink, Mariko-san!’

‘That’s a small price to pay for so much bounty, neh?  Just do as we do, open your eyes and ears and mind.  Hear the wind and the rain, the insects and the birds, listen to the plants growing, and in your mind, see your generations following unto the end of time.  If you do that, Anjin-san, soon you smell only the loveliness of life.  It requires practice . . . but you become very Japanese, neh?‘

‘Ah, thank you, m’lady!  But I do confess I’m beginning to like rice.  Yes.  I certainly prefer it to potatoes, and you know another thing—I don’t miss meat as much as I did.  Isn’t that strange?  And I’m not as hungry as I was.’

‘I am more hungry than I’ve ever been.’

‘Ah, I was talking about food.’

‘Ah, so was I. . . .’

Three days away from Hakoné Pass her monthly time began and she had asked him to take one of the maids of the inn.  ‘It would be wise, Anjin-san.’

‘I’d prefer not to, so sorry.’

‘Please, I ask thee.  It is a safeguard.  A discretion.’

‘Because you ask, then yes.  But tomorrow, not tonight.  Tonight let us sleep in peace.’

Yes, Mariko thought, that night we slept peacefully and the next dawn was so lovely that I left his warmth and sat on the veranda with Chimmoko and watched the birth of another day.

‘Ah, good morning, Lady Toda.’  Gyoko had been standing at the garden entrance, bowing to her.  ‘A gorgeous dawn, neh?‘

‘Yes, beautiful.’

‘Please may I interrupt you?  Could I speak to you privately—alone?  About a business matter.’

‘Of course.’  Mariko had left the veranda, not wishing to disturb the Anjin-san’s sleep.  She sent Chimmoko for cha and ordered blankets to be put on the grass, near the little waterfall.

When it was correct to begin and they were alone, Gyoko said, ‘I was considering how I could be of the most help to Toranaga-sama.’

‘The thousand koku would be more than generous.’

‘Three secrets might be more generous.’

‘One might be, Gyoko-san, if it was the right one.’

‘The Anjin-san is a good man, neh?  His future must be helped too, neh?‘

‘The Anjin-san has his own karma,‘ she replied, knowing that the time of bargaining had come, wondering what she must concede, if she dared to concede anything.  ‘We were talking about Lord Toranaga, neh?  Or is one of the secrets about the Anjin-san?’

‘Oh no, Lady.  It’s as you say.  The Anjin-san has his own karma, as I’m sure he has his own secrets.  It’s just occurred to me that the Anjin-san is one of Lord Toranaga’s favored vassals, so any protection our Lord has in a way helps his vassals, neh?‘

‘I agree.  Of course, it’s the duty of vassals to pass on any information that could help their lord.’

‘True, Lady, very true.  Ah, it’s such an honor for me to serve you.  Honto.  May I tell you how honored I am to have been allowed to travel with you, to talk with you, and eat and laugh with you, and occasionally to act as a modest counselor, however ill-equipped I am, for which I apologize.  And finally to say that your wisdom is as great as your beauty, and your bravery as vast as your rank.’

‘Ah, Gyoko-san, please excuse me, you’re too kind, too thoughtful.  I am just a wife of one of my Lord’s generals.  You were saying?  Four secrets?’

‘Three, Lady.  I was wondering if you’d intercede with Lord Toranaga for me.  It would be unthinkable for me to whisper directly to him what I know to be true.  That would be very bad manners because I wouldn’t know the right words to choose, or how to put the information before him, and in any event, in a matter of any importance, our custom to use a go-between is so much better, neh?‘

‘Surely Kiku-san would be a better choice?  I’ve no way of knowing when I’ll be sent for or how long it would be before I’ll have an audience with him, or even if he’d be interested in listening to anything I might have to tell him.’

‘Please excuse me, Lady, but you would be extraordinarily better.  You could judge the value of the information, she couldn’t.  You possess his ear, she other things.’

‘I’m not a counselor, Gyoko-san.  Nor a valuer.’

‘I’d say they’re worth a thousand koku.’

‘So desu ka?‘

Gyoko made perfectly sure no one was listening, then told Mariko what the renegade Christian priest had muttered aloud that the Lord Onoshi had whispered to him in the confessional that he had related to his uncle, Lord Harima; then what Omi’s second cook had overheard of Omi’s and his mother’s plot against Yabu; and lastly, all she knew about Zataki, his apparent lust for the Lady Ochiba, and about Ishido and Lady Ochiba.

Mariko had listened intently without comment—although breaking the secrecy of the confessional shocked her greatly—her mind hopping at the swarm of possibilities this information unlocked.  Then she cross-questioned Gyoko carefully, to make sure she understood clearly what she was being told and to etch it completely in her own memory.

When she was satisfied that she knew everything that Gyoko was prepared to divulge at the moment—for, obviously, so shrewd a bargainer would always hold much in reserve—she sent for fresh cha.

She poured Gyoko’s cup herself, and they sipped demurely.  Both wary, both confident.

‘I’ve no way of knowing how valuable this information is, Gyoko-san.’

‘Of course, Mariko-sama.’

‘I imagine this information—and the thousand koku—would please Lord Toranaga greatly.’

Gyoko bit back the obscenity that flared behind her lips.  She had expected a substantial reduction in the beginning bid.  ‘So sorry, but money has no significance to such a daimyo, though it is a heritage to a peasant like myself—a thousand koku makes me an ancestress, neh?  One must always know what one is, Lady Toda.  Neh?‘  Her tone was barbed.

‘Yes.  It’s good to know what you are, and who you are, Gyoko-san.  That is one of the rare gifts a woman has over a man.  A woman always knows.  Fortunately I know what I am.  Oh very yes.  Please come to the point.’

Gyoko did not flinch under the threat but slammed back into attack with corresponding impolite brevity.  ‘The point is we both know life and understand death—and both believe treatment in hell and everywhere else depends on money.’

‘Do we?’

‘Yes.  So sorry, I believe a thousand koku is too much.’

‘Death is preferable?’

‘I’ve already written my death poem, Lady:

When I die,

don’t burn me,

don’t bury me,

just throw my body on a field to fatten some empty-bellied dog.’

‘That could be arranged.  Easily.’

‘Yes.  But I’ve long ears and a safe tongue, which could be more important.’

Mariko poured more cha.  For herself.  ‘So sorry, have you?’

‘Oh yes, oh very yes.  Please excuse me but it’s no boast that I was trained well, Lady, in that and many other things.  I’m not afraid to die.  I’ve written my will, and detailed instructions to my kin in case of a sudden death.  I’ve made my peace with the gods long since and forty days after I’m dead I know I’ll be reborn.  And if I’m not’—the woman shrugged—’then I’m a kami.‘  Her fan was stationary.  ‘So I can afford to reach for the moon, neh?  Please excuse me for mentioning it but I’m like you:  I fear nothing.  But unlike you in this life—I’ve nothing to lose.’

‘So much talk of evil things, Gyoko-san, on such a pleasant morning.  It is pleasant, neh?‘  Mariko readied to bury her fangs.  ‘I’d much prefer to see you alive, living into honored old age, one of the pillars of your new guild.  Ah, that was a very tender idea.  A good one, Gyoko-san.’

‘Thank you, Lady.  Equally I’d like you safe and happy and prospering in the way that you’d wish.  With all the toys and honors you’d require.’

‘Toys?’  Mariko repeated, dangerous now.

Gyoko was like a trained dog on the scent near the kill.  ‘I’m only a peasant, Lady, so I wouldn’t know what honors you wish, what toys would please you.  Or your son.‘

Unnoticed by either of them the slim wooden haft of Mariko’s fan snapped between her fingers.  The breeze had died.  Now the hot wet air hung in the garden that looked out on a waveless sea.  Flies swarmed and settled and swarmed again.

‘What—what honors or toys would you wish?  For yourself?’  Mariko stared with malevolent fascination at the older woman, clearly aware now that she must destroy this woman or her son would perish.

‘Nothing for myself.  Lord Toranaga’s given me honors and riches beyond my dreams.  But for my son?  Ah yes, he could be given a helping hand.’

‘What help?’

‘Two swords.’

‘Impossible.’

‘I know, Lady.  So sorry.  So easy to grant, yet so impossible.  War’s coming.  Many will be needed to fight.’

‘There’ll be no war now.  Lord Toranaga’s going to Osaka.’

‘Two swords.  That’s not much to ask.’

‘That’s impossible.  So sorry, that’s not mine to give.’

‘So sorry, but I haven’t asked you for anything.  But that’s the only thing that would please me.  Yes.  Nothing else.’  A dribble of sweat fell from Gyoko’s face onto her lap.  ‘I’d like to offer Lord Toranaga five hundred koku from the contract price, as a token of my esteem in these hard times.  The other five hundred will go to my son.  A samurai needs a heritage, neh?‘

‘You sentence your son to death.  All Toranaga samurai will die or become ronin very soon.’

‘Karma.  My son already has sons, Lady.  They will tell their sons that once we were samurai.  That’s all that matters, neh?‘

‘It’s not mine to give.’

‘True.  So sorry.  But that’s all that would satisfy me.’

Irritably, Toranaga shook his head.  ‘Her information’s interesting—perhaps—but not worth making her son samurai.’

Mariko replied, ‘She seems to be a loyal vassal, Sire.  She said she’d be honored if you’d deduct a further five hundred koku from the contract fee for some needy samurai.’

‘That’s not generosity.  No, not at all.  That’s merely guilt over the original usurious asking price.’

‘Perhaps it’s worth considering, Sire.  Her idea about the guild, about gei-sha and the new classes of courtesans, will have far-reaching effects, neh?  It would do no harm, perhaps.’

‘I don’t agree.  No.  Why should she be rewarded?  There’s no reason for granting her that honor.  Ridiculous!  She surely didn’t ask you for it, did she?’

‘It would have been more than a little impertinent for her to do that, Sire.  I have made the suggestion because I believe she could be very valuable to you.’

‘She’d better be more valuable.  Her secrets are probably lies too.  These days I get nothing but lies.’  Toranaga rang a small bell and an equerry appeared instantly at the far door.

‘Sire?’

‘Where’s the courtesan Kiku?’

‘In your quarters, Sire.’

‘Is the Gyoko woman with her?’

‘Yes, Sire.’

‘Send them both out of the castle.  At once!  Send them back to. . . . No, lodge them at an inn—a third-class inn—and tell them to wait there until I send for them.’  Toranaga said testily, as the man vanished, ‘Disgusting!  Pimps wanting to be samurai?  Filthy peasants don’t know their place anymore!’

Mariko watched him sitting on his cushion, his fan waving desultorily.  She was jarred by the change in him.  Gloom, irritation, and petulance, where before there had always been only buoyant confidence.  He had listened to the secrets with interest, but not with the excitement she had expected.  Poor man, she thought with pity, he’s given up.  What’s the good of any information to him?  Perhaps he’s wise to cast things of the world aside and prepare for the unknown.  Better you should do that yourself too, she thought, dying inside a bit more.  Yes, but you can’t, not yet, somehow you’ve got to protect your son.

They were on the sixth floor of the tall fortified donjon and the windows overlooked the whole city on three quarters of the compass.  Sunset was dark tonight, the thread of moon low on the horizon, the dank air stifling, though here, almost a hundred feet above the floor of the castle battlements, the room gathered every breath of wind.  The room was low and fortified and took up half the whole floor, other rooms beyond.

Toranaga picked up the dispatch that Hiro-matsu had sent with Mariko and read it again.  She noticed his hand tremble.

‘What’s he want to come to Yedo for?’  Impatiently Toranaga tossed the scroll aside.

‘I don’t know, Sire, so sorry.  He just asked me to give you this dispatch.’

‘Did you talk to the Christian renegade?’

‘No, Sire.  Yoshinaka-san said you’d given orders against anyone doing that.’

‘How was Yoshinaka on the journey?’

‘Very capable, Sire,’ she said, patiently answering the question for a second time.  ‘Very efficient.  He guarded us very well and delivered us on time exactly.’

‘Why didn’t the priest Tsukku-san come back with you all the way?’

‘On the road from Mishima, Sire, he and the Anjin-san quarreled,’ Mariko told him, not knowing what Father Alvito might have already told Toranaga, if in fact Toranaga had sent for him yet.  ‘The Father decided to travel on alone.’

‘What was the quarrel about?’

‘Partially over me, my soul, Sire.  Mostly because of their religious enmity and because of the war between their rulers.’

‘Who started it?’

‘They were equally to blame.  It began over a flask of liquor.’  Mariko told him what had passed with Rodrigues, then continued, ‘The Tsukku-san had brought a second flask as a gift, wanting, so he said, to intercede for Rodrigues-san, but the Anjin-san said, shockingly bluntly, that he didn’t want any ‘Papist liquor,’ preferred saké, and he didn’t trust priests.  The—the Holy Father flared up, was equally shockingly blunt, saying he had never dealt in poison, never would, and could never condone such a thing.’

‘Ah, poison?  Do they use poison as a weapon?’

‘The Anjin-san told me some of them do, Sire.  This led to more violent words and then they were hacking at each other over religion, my soul, about Catholics and Protestants . . . I left to fetch Yoshinaka-san as soon as I could and he stopped the quarrel.’

‘Barbarians cause nothing but trouble.  Christians cause nothing but trouble.  Neh?‘

She did not answer him.  His petulance unsettled her.  It was so unlike him and there seemed to be no reason for such a breakdown in his legendary self-control.  Perhaps the shock of being beaten is too much for him, she thought.  Without him we’re all finished, my son’s finished, and the Kwanto will soon be in other hands.  His gloom was infecting her.  She had noticed in the streets and in the castle the pall that seemed to hang over the whole city—a city that was famous for its gaiety, brash good humor, and delight with life.

‘I was born the year the first Christians arrived and they’ve bedeviled the land ever since,’ Toranaga said.  ‘For fifty-eight years nothing but trouble.  Neh?‘

‘I’m sorry they offend you, Sire.  Was there anything else?  With your permi—’

‘Sit down.  I haven’t finished yet.’  Toranaga rang the bell again.  The door opened.  ‘Send Buntaro-san in.’

Buntaro walked in.  Grim-faced, he knelt and bowed.  She bowed to him, numb, but he did not acknowledge her.

A while ago Buntaro had met their cortege at the castle gate.  After a brief greeting, he had told her she was to go at once to Lord Toranaga.  The Anjin-san would be sent for later.

‘Buntaro-san, you asked to see me in your wife’s presence as soon as possible?’

‘Yes, Sire.’

‘What is it you want?’

‘I humbly beg permission to take the Anjin-san’s head,’ Buntaro said.

‘Why?’

‘Please excuse me but I . . . I don’t like the way he looks at my wife.  I wanted . . . I wanted to say it in front of her, the first time, before you.  Also, he insulted me at Anjiro and I can no longer live with this shame.’

Toranaga glanced at Mariko, who seemed to be frozen in time.  ‘You accuse her of encouraging him?’

‘I . . . I ask permission to take his head.’

‘You accuse her of encouraging him?  Answer the question!’

‘Please excuse me, Sire, but if I thought that I’d be duty bound to take her head the same instant,’ Buntaro replied stonily, his eyes on the tatamis.  ‘The barbarian’s a constant irritation to my harmony.  I believe he’s a harassment to you.  Let me remove his head, I beg you.’  He looked up, his heavy jowls unshaven, eyes deeply shadowed.  ‘Or let me take my wife now and tonight we’ll go before you—to prepare the way.’

‘What do you say to that, Mariko-san?’

‘He is my husband.  Whatever he decides, that will I do—unless you overrule him, Sire.  This is my duty.’

Toranaga looked from man to woman.  Then his voice hardened, and for a moment he was like the Toranaga of old.  ‘Mariko-san, you will leave in three days for Osaka.  You will prepare that way for me, and wait for me there.  Buntaro-san, you will accompany me as commander of my escort when I leave.  After you have acted as my second, you or one of your men may do the same with the Anjin-san—with or without his approval.’

Buntaro cleared his throat.  ‘Sire, please order Crim—’

‘Hold your tongue!  You forget yourself!  I’ve told you no three times!  The next time you have the impertinence to offer unwanted advice you will slit your belly in a Yedo cesspool!’

Buntaro’s head was on the tatamis.  ‘I apologize, Sire.  I apologize for my impertinence.’

Mariko was equally appalled by Toranaga’s ill-mannered, shameful outburst, and she bowed low also, to hide her own embarrassment.  In a moment Toranaga said, ‘Please excuse my temper.  Your plea is granted, Buntaro-san, but only after you’ve acted as my second.’

‘Thank you, Sire.  Please excuse me for offending you.’

‘I ordered you both to make peace with one another.  Have you done so?’

Buntaro nodded shortly.  Mariko too.

‘Good.  Mariko-san, you will come back with the Anjin-san tonight, in the Hour of the Dog.  You may go now.’

She bowed and left them.

Toranaga stared at Buntaro.  ‘Well?  Do you accuse her?’

‘It . . . it is unthinkable she’d betray me, Sire,’ Buntaro answered sullenly.

‘I agree.’  Toranaga waved a fly away with his fan, seeming very tired.  ‘Well, you may have the Anjin-san’s head soon.  I need it on his shoulders a little longer.’

‘Thank you, Sire.  Again please excuse me for irritating you.’

‘These are irritating times.  Foul times.’  Toranaga leaned forward.  ‘Listen, I want you to go to Mishima at once to relieve your father for a few days.  He asks permission to come here to consult with me.  I don’t know what. . . . Anyway, I must have someone in Mishima I can trust.  Would you please leave at dawn—but by way of Takato.’

‘Sire?’  Buntaro saw that Toranaga was keeping calm only with an enormous effort, and in spite of his will, his voice was trembling.

‘I’ve a private message for my mother in Takato.  You’re to tell no one you’re going there.  But once you’re clear of the city, cut north.’

‘I understand.’

‘Lord Zataki may prevent you from delivering it—may try to.  You are to give it only into her hands.  You understand?  To her alone.  Take twenty men and gallop there.  I’ll send a carrier pigeon to ask safe conduct from him.’

‘Your message will be verbal or in writing, Lord?’

‘In writing.’

‘And if I can’t deliver it?’

‘You must deliver it, of course you must.  That’s why I picked you!  But . . . if you’re betrayed like I’ve . . . if you’re betrayed, destroy it before you commit suicide.  The moment I hear such evil news, the Anjin-san’s head is off his shoulders.  And if . . . what about Mariko-san?  What about your wife, if something goes wrong?’

‘Please dispatch her, Sire, before you die.  I would be honored if. . . . She merits a worthy second.’

‘She won’t die dishonorably, you have my promise.  I’ll see to it.  Personally.  Now please come back at dawn for the dispatch.  Don’t fail me.  Only into my mother’s hands.’

Buntaro thanked him again and left, ashamed of Toranaga’s outward show of fear.

Now alone, Toranaga took out a kerchief and wiped the sweat off his face.  His fingers were trembling.  He tried to control them but couldn’t.  It had taken all his strength to continue acting the stupid dullard, to hide his unbounding excitement over the secrets, which, fantastically, promised the long-hoped-for reprieve.

‘A possible reprieve, only possible—if they’re true,’ he said aloud, hardly able to think, the astoundingly welcome information that Mariko had brought from the Gyoko woman still shrieking in his brain.

Ochiba, he was gloating, . . . so that harpy’s the lure to bring my brother tumbling out of his mountain eyrie.  My brother wants Ochiba.  But now it’s equally obvious he wants more than her, and more than just the Kwanto.  He wants the realm.  He detests Ishido, loathes Christians, and is now sick with jealousy over Ishido’s well-known lust for Ochiba.  So he’ll fall out with Ishido, Kiyama, and Onoshi.  Because what my treacherous brother really wants is to be Shōgun.  He’s Minowara, with all the lineage necessary, all the ambition, but not the mandate.  Or the Kwanto.  First he must get the Kwanto to get the rest.

Toranaga rubbed his hands with glee at all the wonderful new possible ploys this newfound knowledge gave him against his brother.

And Onoshi the leper!  A drop of honey in Kiyama’s ear at the right time, he thought, and the guts of the renegade’s treason twisted a little, improved modestly, and Kiyama might gather his legions and go after Onoshi with fire and sword at once.  ‘Gyoko’s quite sure, Sire.  The acolyte Brother Joseph said Lord Onoshi had whispered in the confessional that he had made a secret treaty with Ishido against a fellow Christian daimyo and wanted absolution.  The treaty solemnly agreed that in return for support now, Ishido promised the day you are dead that this fellow Christian would be impeached for treason and invited into the Void, the same day, forcibly if necessary, and Onoshi’s son and heir would inherit all lands.  The Christian was not named, Sire.’

Kiyama or Harima of Nagasaki?  Toranaga asked himself.  It doesn’t matter.  For me it must be Kiyama.

He got up shakily, in spite of his jubilation, and groped to one of the windows, leaned heavily on the wooden sill.  He peered at the moon, and the sky beyond.  The stars were dull.  Rain clouds were building.

‘Buddha, all gods, any gods, let my brother take the bait—and let that woman’s whisperings be true!’

No shooting star appeared to show the message was acknowledged by the gods.  No wind sprang up, no sudden cloud blanketed the crescent moon.  Even if there had been a heavenly sign he would have dismissed it as a coincidence.

Be patient.  Consider facts only.  Sit down and think, he told himself.

He knew the strain was beginning to tell on him but it was vital that none of his intimates or vassals—thus none of the legion of loose-mouthed fools or spies of Yedo—suspect for an instant that he was only feigning capitulation and play-acting the role of a beaten man.  At Yokosé he had realized at once that to accept the second scroll from his brother was his death knell.  He had decided his only tiny chance of survival was to convince everyone, even himself, that he had absolutely accepted defeat, though in reality it was only a cover to gain time, continuing his lifelong pattern of negotiation, delay, and seeming retreat, always waiting patiently until a chink in the armor appeared over a jugular, then stabbing home viciously, without hesitation.

Since Yokosé he had waited out the lonely watches of the nights and the days, each one harder to bear.  No hunting or laughing, no plotting or planning or swimming or banter or dancing and singing in Nōh plays that had delighted him all his life.  Only the same lonely role, the most difficult in his life:  gloom, surrender, indecision, apparent helplessness, with self-imposed semistarvation.

To help pass the time he had continued to refine the Legacy.  This was a series of private secret instructions to his successors that he had formulated over the years on how best to rule after him.  Sudara had already sworn to abide by the Legacy, as every heir to the mantle would be required to do.  In this way the future of the clan would be assured—may be assured, Toranaga reminded himself as he changed a word or added a sentence or eliminated a paragraph, providing I escape this present trap.

The Legacy began:  ‘The duty of a lord of a province is to give peace and security to the people and does not consist of shedding luster on his ancestors or working for the prosperity of his descendants. . . .

One of the maxims was:  ‘Remember that fortune and misfortune should be left to heaven and natural law.  They are not to be bought by prayer or any cunning device to be thought of by any man or self-styled saint.’

Toranaga eliminated ‘. . . or self-styled saint,’ and changed the sentence to end ‘. . . by any man whatsoever.’

Normally he would enjoy stretching his mind to write clearly and succinctly, but during the long days and nights it had taken all of his self-discipline to continue playing such an alien role.

That he had succeeded so well pleased him yet dismayed him.  How could people be so gullible?

Thank the gods they are, he answered himself for the millionth time.  By accepting ‘defeat’ you have twice avoided war.  You’re still trapped, but now, at long last, your patience has brought its reward and you have a new chance.

Perhaps you’ve got a chance, he corrected himself.  Unless the secrets are false and given by an enemy to enmesh you further.

His chest began to ache, he became weak and dizzy, so he sat down and breathed deeply as the Zen teachers had taught him years ago.  ‘Ten deep, ten slow, ten deep, ten slow, send your mind into the Void.  There is no past or future, hot or cold, pain or—from nothing, into nothing. . . .

Soon he started to think clearly again.  Then he went to his desk and began to write.  He asked his mother to act as intermediary between himself and his half-brother and to present an offer for the future of their clan.  First, he petitioned his brother to consider a marriage with the Lady Ochiba:  ‘. . . of course it would be unthinkable for me to do this, brother.  Too many daimyos would be enraged at my ‘vaulting ambition.’  But such a liaison with you would cement the peace of the realm, and confirm the succession of Yaemon—no one doubting your loyalty, though some in error doubt mine.  You could certainly get a more eligible wife, but she could hardly get a better husband.  Once the traitors to His Imperial Highness are removed, and I resume my rightful place as President of the Council of Regents, I will invite the Son of Heaven to request the marriage if you will agree to take on such a burden.  I sincerely feel this sacrifice is the only way we can both secure the succession and do our sworn duty to the Taikō.  Second, you’re offered all the domains of the Christian traitors Kiyama and Onoshi, who are presently plotting, with the barbarian priests, a treasonous war against all non-Christian daimyos, supported by a musket-armed invasion of barbarians as they did before against our liege lord, the Taikō.  Further, you’re offered all the lands of any other Kyushu Christians who side with the traitor Ishido against me in the final battle.  (Did you know that upstart peasant has had the impertinence to let it be known that once I am dead and he rules the Regents, he plans to dissolve the Council and marry the mother of the Heir himself?)

‘And in return for the above, just this, brother:  a secret treaty of alliance now, guaranteed safe passage for my armies through the Shinano mountains, a joint attack under my generalship against Ishido at a time and manner of my choosing.  Last, as a measure of my trust I will at once send my son Sudara, his wife the Lady Genjiko, and their children, including my only grandson, to you in Takato. . . .’

This isn’t the work of a defeated man, Toranaga told himself as he sealed the scroll.  Zataki will know that instantly.  Yes, but now the trap’s baited.  Shinano’s athwart my only road, and Zataki’s the initial key to the Osaka plains.

Is it true that Zataki wants Ochiba?  I risk so much over the supposed whispers of a straddled maid and grunting man.  Could Gyoko be lying for her own advantage, that impertinent bloodsucker!  Samurai?  So that’s the real key to unlock all her secrets.

She must have proof about Mariko and the Anjin-san.  Why else would Mariko put such a request to me?  Toda Mariko and the barbarian!  The barbarian and Buntaro!  Eeeee, life is strange.

Another twinge over his heart wracked him.  After a moment he wrote the message for a carrier pigeon and plodded up the stairs to the loft above.  Carefully he selected a Takato pigeon from one of the many panniers and slid the tiny cylinder home.  Then he put the pigeon on the perch, in the open box that would allow her to fly off at first light.

The message asked his mother to request safe passage for Buntaro, who had an important dispatch for her and his brother.  And he had signed it like the offer, Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Minowara, claiming that mantle for the first time in his life.

‘Fly safe and true, little bird,’ he said, caressing her with a fallen feather.  ‘You carry a heritage of ten thousand years.’

Once more his eyes went to the city below.  The smallest bar of light appeared on the west horizon.  Down by the docks he could see the pinpricks of flares that surrounded the barbarian ship.

There’s another key, he thought, and he began to rethink the three secrets.  He knew he had missed something.

‘I wish Kiri were here,’ he said to the night.

Mariko was kneeling in front of her polished metal mirror.  She looked away from her face.  In her hands was the dagger, catching the flickering oil light.

‘I should use thee,’ she said, filled with grief.  Her eyes sought the Madonna and Child in the niche beside the lovely spray of flowers, and filled with tears.  ‘I know suicide’s a mortal sin, but what can I do?  How can I live with this shame?  It’s better for me to do it before I’m betrayed.’

The room was quiet like the house.  This was their family house, built within the innermost ring of defenses and the wide moat around the castle, where only the most favored and trusted hatamoto were allowed to live.  Circling the house was a bamboo-walled garden and a tiny stream ran through it, tapped from the abundance of waters surrounding the castle.

She heard footsteps.  The front gate creaked open and there was the sound of servants rushing to greet the master.  Quickly she put the knife away in her obi and dried her tears.  Soon there were footsteps and she opened her door, bowing politely.

In ill humor, Buntaro told her Toranaga had changed his mind again, that now he was ordered to Mishima temporarily.  ‘I’ll leave at dawn.  I wanted to wish you a safe journey—’  He stopped and peered at her.  ‘Why are you crying?’

‘Please excuse me, Sire.  It’s just because I’m a woman and life seems so difficult for me.  And because of Toranaga-sama.’

‘He’s a broken reed.  I’m ashamed to say it.  Terrible, but that’s what he’s become.  We should go to war.  Far better to go to war than to know the only future I’ve got is to see Ishido’s filthy face laughing at my karma!‘

‘Yes, so sorry.  I wish there was something I could do to help.  Would you like saké or cha?’

Buntaro turned and bellowed at a servant who was waiting in the passageway.  ‘Get saké!  Hurry up!’

Buntaro walked into her room.  Mariko closed the door.  Now he stood at the window looking up at the castle walls and the donjon beyond.

‘Please don’t worry, Sire,’ she said placatingly.  ‘The bath’s ready and I’ve sent for your favorite.’

He kept his eyes on the donjon, seething.  Then he said, ‘He should resign in Lord Sudara’s favor if he’s not got the stomach for leadership anymore.  Lord Sudara’s his son and legal heir, neh?  Neh?‘

‘Yes, Sire.’

‘Yes.  Or even better, he should do as Zataki suggested.  Commit seppuku.  Then we’d have Zataki and his armies fighting with us.  With them and the muskets we could smash through to Kyoto, I know we could.  Even if we failed, better that than give up like filthy, cowardly Garlic Eaters!  Our Master’s forfeited all rights.  Neh?  NEH?‘  He whirled on her.

‘Please excuse me—it’s not for me to say.  He’s our liege lord.’

Buntaro turned back again, brooding, to stare at the donjon.  Lights flickered on all levels.  Particularly the sixth.  ‘My advice to his Council is to invite him to depart, and if he won’t—to help him.  There’s precedent enough!  There are many who share my opinion, but not Lord Sudara, not yet.  Maybe he does secretly, who knows about him, what he’s really thinking?  When you meet his wife, when you meet Lady Genjiko, talk to her, persuade her.  Then she’ll persuade him—she leads him by the nose, neh?  You’re friends, she’ll listen to you.  Persuade her.’

‘I think that would be very bad to do, Sire.  That’s treason.’

‘I order you to talk to her!’

‘I will obey you.’

‘Yes, you’ll obey an order, won’t you?’ he snarled.  ‘Obey?  Why are you always so cold and bitter?  Eh?’  He picked up her mirror and shoved it up to her face.  ‘Look at yourself!’

‘Please excuse me if I displease you, Sire.’  Her voice was level and she stared past the mirror to his face.  ‘I don’t wish to anger you.’

He watched her for a moment then sullenly tossed the mirror back onto the lacquered table.  ‘I didn’t accuse you.  If I thought that I’d . . . I wouldn’t hesitate.’

Mariko heard herself spit back, unforgivably, ‘Wouldn’t hesitate to do what?  Kill me, Sire?  Or leave me alive to shame me more?’

‘I didn’t accuse you, only him!’ Buntaro bellowed.

‘But I accuse you!’ she shrieked in return.  ‘And you did accuse me!’

‘Hold your tongue!’

‘You shamed me in front of our lord!  You accused me and you won’t do your duty!  You’re afraid!  You’re a coward!  A filthy, garlic-eating coward!’

His sword came out of its scabbard, and she gloried in the fact that at least she had dared to push him over the brink.

But the sword remained poised in the air.  ‘I . . . I have your . . . I have your promise before your . . . your God, in Osaka.  Before we . . . we go into death . . . I have your promise and I . . . I hold you to that!’

Her baiting laugh was shrill and vicious.  ‘Oh yes, mighty Lord.  I’ll be your cushion just once more, but your welcome will be dry, bitter, and rancid!’

He hacked blindly with all his two-handed strength at a corner post and the blade sliced almost totally through the foot-thick seasoned beam.  He tugged but the sword held fast.  Almost berserk, he twisted it and fought it and then the blade snapped.  With a final curse he hurled the broken haft through the flimsy wall and staggered drunkenly for the door.  The quavering servant stood there with the tray and saké.  Buntaro smashed it out of his hands.  Instantly the servant knelt, put his head on the floor, and froze.

Buntaro leaned on the shattered door frame.  ‘Wait . . . wait till Osaka.’

He groped out of the house.

For a time, Mariko remained immobile, seemingly in a trance.  Then the color began to return to her cheeks.  Her eyes focused.  Silently she returned to her mirror.  She studied her reflection for a moment.  Then, quite calmly, she finished applying her makeup.

Blackthorne ran up the stairs two at a time, his guard with him.  They were on the main staircase within the donjon and he was glad to be unencumbered by his swords.  He had formally surrendered them in the courtyard to the first guards, who had also searched him politely but thoroughly.  Torches lit the staircase and the landings.  On the fourth landing he stopped, almost bursting with pent-up excitement, and called back, ‘Mariko-san, are you all right?’

‘Yes—yes.  I’m fine, thank you, Anjin-san.’

He began to climb again, feeling light and very strong, until he reached the final landing on the sixth floor.  This level was heavily guarded like all the others.  His escorting samurai went over to those clustering at the final iron-fortified door and bowed.  They bowed back and motioned Blackthorne to wait.

The ironwork and woodwork in the entire castle were excellent.  Here in the donjon all the windows, though delicate and soaring, doubled as stations for bowmen, and there were heavy, iron-covered shutters ready to swing into place for further protection.

Mariko rounded the last angle of the easily defensible staircase and reached him.

‘You all right?’ he asked.

‘Oh yes, thank you,’ she answered, slightly out of breath.  But she still possessed the same curious serenity and detachment that he had at once noticed when he had met her in the courtyard but had never seen before.

Never mind, he thought confidently, it’s just the castle and Toranaga and Buntaro and being here in Yedo.  I know what to do now.

Ever since he had seen Erasmus he had been filled with an immense joy.  He had truly never expected to find his ship so perfect, so clean and cared for, and ready.  There’s hardly reason to stay in Yedo now, he had thought.  I’ll just take a quick look below to test the bilges, an easy dive over the side to check the keel, then guns, powder room, ammunition and shot and sails.  During the journey to Yedo he’d planned how to use heavy silk or cotton cloth for sails; Mariko had told him that canvas did not exist in Japan.  Just get the sails commissioned, he chortled, and any other spares we need, then off to Nagasaki like a lightning bolt.

‘Anjin-san!’ The samurai was back.

‘Hai?‘

‘Dozo.‘

The fortified door swung open silently.  Toranaga was seated at the far end of the square room on a section of raised tatamis.  Alone.

Blackthorne knelt and bowed low, his hands flat.  ‘Konbanwa, Toranaga-sama.  Ikaga desu ka?‘

‘Okagesana de genki desu.  Anata wa?‘

Toranaga seemed older and lackluster, and much thinner than before.  Shigata ga nai, Blackthorne told himself.  Toranaga’s karma won’t touch Erasmus—she’s going to be his savior, by God.

He answered Toranaga’s standard inquiries in simple but well-accented Japanese, using a simplified technique he had developed with Alvito’s help.  Toranaga complimented him on the improvement and began to speak faster.

Blackthorne used one of the stock phrases he had worked out with Alvito and Mariko:  ‘Please excuse me, Lord, as my Japanese is not good, would you please speak slower and use simple words, as I have to use simple words—please excuse me for putting you to so much trouble.’

‘All right.  Yes, certainly.  Tell me, how did you like Yokosé?’

Blackthorne replied, keeping up with Toranaga, his answers halting, his vocabulary still very limited, until Toranaga asked a question, the key words of which he missed entirely.  ‘Dozo?  Gomen nasai, Toranaga-sama,’ he said apologetically.  ‘Wakarimasen.‘  I don’t understand.

Toranaga repeated what he had said, in simpler language.  Blackthorne glanced at Mariko.  ‘So sorry, Mariko-san, what’s ‘sonkei su beki umi’?‘

”Seaworthy,’ Anjin-san.’

‘Ah!  Domo.‘  Blackthorne turned back.  The daimyo had asked if he could quickly make sure whether his ship was completely seaworthy, and how long that would take.  He replied, ‘Yes, easy.  Half day, Lord.’

Toranaga thought a moment, then told him to do that tomorrow and report back in the afternoon, during the Hour of the Goat.  ‘Wakarimasu?‘

‘Hai.‘

‘Then you can see your men,’ Toranaga added.

‘Sire?’

‘Your vassals.  I sent for you to tell you tomorrow you’ll have your vassals.’

‘Ah, so sorry.  I understand.  Samurai vassals.  Two hundred men.’

‘Yes.  Good night, Anjin-san.  I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Please excuse me, Lord, may I respectfully ask three things?’

‘What?’

‘First:  Possible see my crew now please?  Save time, neh?  Please.’  Toranaga agreed and gave a curt order to one of the samurai to guide Blackthorne.  ‘Take a ten-man guard with you.  Take the Anjin-san there and bring him back to the castle.’

‘Yes, Lord.’

‘Next, Anjin-san?’

‘Please possible talk alone?  Little time.  Please excuse my rudeness.’  Blackthorne tried not to show his anxiety as Toranaga asked Mariko what this was all about.  She replied truthfully that she only knew the Anjin-san had something private to say but she had not asked him what it was.

‘You’re certain it’ll be all right for me to ask him, Mariko-san?’ Blackthorne had said as they began to climb the stairs.

‘Oh yes.  Providing you wait till he’s finished.  But be sure you know exactly what you’re going to say, Anjin-san.  He’s . . . he’s not as patient as he is normally.’  She had not asked him what he had wanted to ask, and he had not volunteered anything.

‘Very well, Anjin-san,’ Toranaga was saying.  ‘Please wait outside, Mariko-san.’  She bowed and left.  ‘Yes?’

‘So sorry, hear Lord Harima of Nagasaki now enemy.’

Toranaga was startled for he had heard about Harima’s public commitment to Ishido’s standard only when he himself had reached Yedo.  ‘Where did you get that information?’

‘Please?’

Toranaga repeated the question slower.

‘Ah!  Understand.  Hear about Lord Harima at Hakoné.  Gyoko-san tell us.  Gyoko-san hear in Mishima.’

‘That woman’s well informed.  Perhaps too well informed.’

‘Sire?’

‘Nothing.  Go on.  What about Lord Harima?’

‘Sire, may I respectfully say:  my ship, big weapon over Black Ship, neh?  If I take Black Ship very quick—priests very anger because no money Christian work here—no money also Portuguese other lands.  Last year no Black Ship here, so no money, neh?  If now take Black Ship quick, very quick, and also next year, all priest has great fear.  That’s the truth, Sire.  Think priests must bend if threatens.  Priests like this for Toranaga-sama!’  Blackthorne snapped his hand shut to make his point.

Toranaga had listened intently, watching his lips as he was doing the same.  ‘I follow you, but to what end, Anjin-san?’

‘Sire?’

Toranaga fell into the same pattern of using few words.  ‘To obtain what?  To catch what?  To get what?’

‘Lord Onoshi, Lord Kiyama, and Lord Harima.’

‘So you want to interfere in our politics like the priests?  You think you know how to rule us as well, Anjin-san?’

‘So sorry, please excuse me, I don’t understand.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’  Toranaga thought for a long time, then said, ‘Priests say they’ve no power to order Christian daimyos.‘

‘No true, Sire, please excuse me.  Money big power over priests.  It’s the truth, Sire.  If no Black Ship this year, and also next year no Black Ship, ruin.  Very, very bad for priests.  It’s the truth, Sire.  Money is power.  Please consider:  If Crimson Sky at same time or before, I attack Nagasaki.  Nagasaki enemy now, neh?  I take Black Ship and attack sea roads between Kyushu and Honshu.  Maybe threat enough to make enemy into friend?’

‘No.  The priests will stop trade.  I am not at war with the priests or Nagasaki.  Or anyone.  I am going to Osaka.  There will be no Crimson Sky.  Wakarimasu?‘

‘Hai.‘  Blackthorne was not perturbed.  He knew that now Toranaga clearly understood that this possible tactic would certainly draw off a large proportion of Kiyama-Onoshi-Harima forces, all of whom were Kyushu-based.  And Erasmus could certainly wreck any large-scale seaborne transfer of troops from that island to the main one.  Be patient, he cautioned himself.  Let Toranaga consider it.  Maybe it’ll be as Mariko says:  There is a long time between now and Osaka, and who knows what might happen?  Prepare for the best but do not fear the worst.

‘Anjin-san, why not say this in front of Mariko-san?  She will tell priests?  You think that?’

‘No, Sire.  Only want to try talk direct.  Not woman’s business to war.  One last ask, Toranaga-sama.’  Blackthorne launched himself on a chosen course.  ‘Custom hatamoto ask favor, sometimes.  Please excuse me, Sire, may I respectfully say now possible ask?’

Toranaga’s fan stopped waving.  ‘What favor?’

‘Know divorce easy if lord say.  Ask Toda Mariko-sama wife.’  Toranaga was dumbstruck and Blackthorne was afraid he’d gone too far.  ‘Please excuse me for my rudeness,’ he added.

Toranaga recovered quickly.  ‘Mariko-san agrees?’

‘No, Toranaga-sama.  Secret my.  Never say to her, anyone.  Secret my only.  Not say to Toda Mariko-san.  Never.  Kinjiru, neh?  But know angers between husband wife.  Divorce easy in Japan.  This my secret only.  Ask Lord Toranaga only.  Very secret.  Never Mariko-san.  Please excuse me if I’ve offended you.’

‘That’s a presumptuous request for a stranger.  Unheard of!  Because you’re hatamoto I’m duty bound to consider it, though you’re forbidden to mention it to her under any circumstances, either to her or to her husband.  Is that clear?’

‘Please?’ Blackthorne asked, not understanding at all, hardly able to think.

‘Very bad ask and thought, Anjin-san.  Understand?’

‘Yes Sire, so sor—’

‘Because Anjin-san hatamoto I’m not angry.  Will consider.  Understand?’

‘Yes, I think so.  Thank you.  Please excuse my bad Japanese, so sorry.’

‘No talk to her, Anjin-san, about divorce.  Mariko-san or Buntaro-san.  Kinjiru, wakarimasu?‘

‘Yes, Lord.  Understand.  Only secret you, I.  Secret.  Thank you.  Please excuse my rudeness and thank you for your patience.’  Blackthorne bowed perfectly and, almost in a dream, he walked out.  The door closed behind him.  On the landing everyone was watching him quizzically.

He wanted to share his victory with Mariko.  But he was inhibited by her distracted serenity and the presence of the guards.  ‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting’ was all he said.

‘It was my pleasure,’ she answered, as noncommittal.

They started down the staircase again.  Then, after a flight of stairs, she said, ‘Your simple way of talking is strange though quite understandable, Anjin-san.’

‘I was lost too many times.  Knowing you were there helped me tremendously.’

‘I did nothing.’

In the silence they walked on, Mariko behind him slightly as was correct custom.  At each level they passed through a samurai cordon, then, rounding a bend in the stairs, the trailing hem of her kimono caught in the railings and she stumbled.  He caught her, steadying her, and the sudden close touch pleased both of them.  ‘Thank you,’ she said, flustered, as he put her down again.

They continued on, much closer than they had been tonight.

Outside in the torchlit forecourt, samurai were everywhere.  Once more their passes were checked and now they were escorted with their flare-carrying porters through the donjon main gate, along a passage that meandered, mazelike, between high, battlemented stone walls to the next gate that led to the moat and the innermost wooden bridge.  In all, there were seven rings of moats within the castle complex.  Some were man-made, some adapted from the streams and rivers that abounded.  While they headed for the main gate, the south gate, Mariko told him that, when the fortress was completed the year after next, it would house a hundred thousand samurai and twenty thousand horses, with all necessary provisions for one year.

‘Then it will be the biggest in the world,’ Blackthorne said.

‘That was Lord Toranaga’s plan.’  Her voice was grave.  ‘Shigata ga nai, neh?‘  At last they came to the final bridge.  ‘There, Anjin-san, you can see the castle’s the hub of Yedo, neh?  The center of a web of streets that angle out to become the city.  Ten years ago there was only a little fishing village here.  Now, who knows?  Three hundred thousand?  Two?  Four?  Lord Toranaga hasn’t counted his people yet.  But they’re all here for one purpose only:  to serve the castle that protects the port and the plains that feed the armies.’

‘Nothing else?’ he asked.

‘No.’

There’s no need to be worried, Mariko, and look so solemn, he thought happily.  I’ve solved all that.  Toranaga will grant all my requests.

At the far side of the flare-lit Ichi-bashi—First Bridge—that led to the city proper, she stopped.  ‘I must leave you now, Anjin-san.’

‘When can I see you?’

‘Tomorrow.  At the Hour of the Goat.  I’ll wait in the forecourt for you.’

‘I can’t see you tonight?  If I’m back early?’

‘No, so sorry, please excuse me.  Not tonight.’  Then she bowed formally.  ‘Konbanwa, Anjin-san.’

He bowed.  As a samurai.  He watched her going back across the bridge, some of the flare-carriers going with her, insects milling the stationary flares that were stuck in holders on stanchions.  Soon she was swallowed up by the crowds and the night.

Then, his excitement increasing, he put his back to the castle and set off after the guide.