“Did you?”
“No.”
“What was he like?”
“A short, bald man, very proud, a fine general and a poet of great note. So sad to end that way, all the Akechis. And now the last of them. Poor Mariko . . . but what she did saved Toranaga, if God wills it.” Alvito’s fingers touched his rosary. After a moment he said, “Also, Pilot, also before I go I want to apologize for . . . well, I’m glad the Father-Visitor was there to save you.”
“You apologize for my ship too?”
“Not for the Erasmus, though I had nothing to do with that. I apologize only for those men, Pesaro and the Captain-General. I’m glad your ship’s gone.”
“Shigata ga nai, Father. Soon I’ll have another.”
“What kind of craft will you try to build?”
“One big enough and strong enough.”
“To attack the Black Ship?”
“To sail home to England—and defend myself against anyone.”
“It will be a waste, all that labor.”
“There’ll be another ‘Act of God’?”
“Yes. Or sabotage.”
“If there is and my new ship fails, I’m going to build another, and if that fails, another. I’m going to build a ship or get a berth and when I get back to England I’m going to beg or borrow or buy or steal a privateer and then I’m coming back.”
“Yes. I know. That’s why you will never leave. You know too much, Anjin-san. I told you that before and I say it again, but with no malice. Truly. You’re a brave man, a fine adversary, one to respect, and I do, and there should be peace between us. We’re going to see a lot of each other over the years—if any of us survive the war.”
“Are we?”
“Yes. You’re too good at Japanese. Soon you’ll be Toranaga’s personal interpreter. We shouldn’t quarrel, you and I. I’m afraid our destinies are interlocked. Did Mariko-san tell you that, too? She told me.”
“No. She never said that. What else did she tell you?”
“She begged me to be your friend, to protect you if I could. Anjin-san, I didn’t come here to goad you, or to quarrel, but to ask a peace before I go.”
“Where are you going?”
“First to Nagasaki, by ship from Mishima. There are trade negotiations to conclude. Then to wherever Toranaga is, wherever the battle will be.”
“They’ll let you travel freely, in spite of the war?”
“Oh, yes. They need us—whoever wins. Surely we can be reasonable men, and make peace—you and I. I ask it because of Mariko-sama.”
Blackthorne said nothing for a moment. “Once we had a truce, because she wanted it. I’ll offer you that. A truce, not a peace—providing you agree not to come within fifty miles of where my shipyard is.”
“I agree, Pilot, of course I agree—but you’ve nothing to fear from me. A truce, then, in her memory.” Alvito put out his hand. “Thank you.”
Blackthorne shook the hand firmly. Then Alvito said, “Soon her funeral will take place at Nagasaki. It’s to be in the cathedral. The Father-Visitor will say the service himself, Anjin-san. Part of her ashes are to be entombed there.”
“That would please her.” Blackthorne watched the wreck for a moment, then looked back at Alvito. “One thing I . . . I didn’t mention to Toranaga: Just before she died I gave her a Benediction as a priest would, and the last rites as best I could. There was no one else and she was Catholic. I don’t think she heard me, I don’t know if she was conscious. And I did it again at her cremation. Would that—would that be the same? Would that be acceptable? I tried to do it before God, not mine or yours, but God.”
“No, Anjin-san. We are taught that it would not. But two days before she died she asked for and received absolution from the Father-Visitor and she was sanctified.”
“Then . . . then she knew all along she had to die . . . whatever happened, she was a sacrifice.”
“Yes, God bless her and cherish her!”
“Thank you for telling me,” Blackthorne said. “I’ve . . . I was always worried my intercession would never work, though I . . . Thank you for telling me.”
“Sayonara, Anjin-san,” Alvito said, offering his hand again.
“Sayonara, Tsukku-san. Please, light a candle for her . . . from me.”
“I will.”
Blackthorne shook the hand and watched the priest walk away, tall and strong, a worthy adversary. We’ll always be enemies, he thought. We both know it, truce or no truce. What would you say if you knew Toranaga’s plan and my plan? Nothing more than you’ve already threatened, neh? Good. We understand each other. A truce will do no harm. But we won’t be seeing much of each other, Tsukku-san. While my ship’s abuilding I’ll take your place as interpreter with Toranaga and the Regents and soon you’ll be out of trade negotiations, even while Portuguese ships carry the silk. And all that’ll change too. My fleet will only be the beginning. In ten years the Lion of England will rule these seas. But first The Lady, then all the rest. . . .
Contentedly Blackthorne walked back to Naga and settled plans for tomorrow, then climbed the slope to his temporary house, near Toranaga. There he ate rice and slivered raw fish that one of his cooks had prepared for him and found them delicious. He took a second helping and began to laugh.
“Sire?”
“Nothing.” But in his head he was seeing Mariko and hearing her say, “Oh, Anjin-san, one day perhaps we’ll even get you to like raw fish and then you’ll be on the road to nirvana—the Place of Perfect Peace.”
Ah, Mariko, he thought, I’m so glad about the real absolution. And I thank thee.
For what, Anjin-san? he could hear her say.
For life, Mariko my darling. Thou. . . .
Many times during the days and the nights he would talk to her in his head, reliving parts of their life together and telling her about today, feeling her presence very close, always so close that once or twice he had looked over his shoulder expecting to see her standing there.
I did that this morning, Mariko, but instead of you it was Buntaro, Tsukku-san beside him, both glaring at me. I had my sword but he had his great bow in his hands. Eeeee, my love, it took all my courage to walk over and greet them formally. Were you watching? You would have been proud of me, so calm and samurai and petrified. He said so stiffly, talking through Tsukku-san, “Lady Kiritsubo and the Lady Sazuko have informed me how you protected my wife’s honor and theirs. How you saved her from shame. And them. I thank you, Anjin-san. Please excuse my vile temper of before. I apologize and thank you.” Then he bowed to me and went away and I wanted you so much to be there—to know that everything’s protected and no one will ever know.
Many times Blackthorne had looked over his shoulder expecting her there, but she was never there and never would be and this did not disturb him. She was with him forever, and he knew he would love her in the good times and in the tragic times, even in the winter of his life. She was always on the edge of his dreams. And now those dreams were good, very good, and intermixed with her were drawings and plans and the carving of the figurehead and sails and how to set the keel and how to build the ship and then, such joy, the final shape of The Lady under full sail, bellied by a sharp sou’wester, racing up the Channel, the bit between her teeth, halyards shrieking, spars stretched on a larboard tack and then, ‘All sails ho! Tops’ls, mainsails, royals, and top topgallants!’ easing out the ropes, giving her every inch, the cannonade of the sails reaching on the other tack and ‘Steady as she goes!’ every particle of canvas answering his cry, and then at long last, full-bodied, a lady of inestimable beauty turning hard aport near Beachy Head for London . . .