With all his soul, the samurai knew it mattered very much.
“Ah, good morning, Mariko-san. How beautiful the day is,” Father Alvito said, walking up to them. They were outside the inn, ready to start the day’s journey. He made the sign of the cross over her. “May God bless you and keep you in His hands forever.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Good morning, Pilot. How are you today?”
“Good, thank you. And you?”
Their party and the Jesuits had leapfrogged each other on the march. Sometimes they had stayed at the same inn. Sometimes they journeyed together.
“Would you like me to ride with you this morning, Pilot? I’d be happy to continue the Japanese lessons, if you’ve a mind.”
“Thank you. Yes, I’d like that.”
On the first day, Alvito had offered to try to teach Blackthorne the language.
“In return for what?” Blackthorne had asked warily.
“Nothing. It would help me pass the time, and to tell you the truth, at the moment I’m saddened by life and feel old. Also perhaps to apologize for my harsh words.”
“I expect no apology from you. You’ve your way, I’ve mine. We can never meet.”
“Perhaps—but on our journey we could share things, neh? We’re travelers on the same road. I’d like to help you.”
“Why?”
“Knowledge belongs to God. Not to man. I’d like to help you as a gift—nothing in return.”
“Thanks, but I don’t trust you.”
“Then, if you insist, in return tell me about your world, what you’ve seen and where you’ve been. Anything you like, but only what you like. The real truth. Truly, it would fascinate me and it would be a fair exchange. I came to Japan when I was thirteen or fourteen, and I’ve seen nothing of the world. We could even agree to a truce for the journey, if you wish.”
“But no religion or politics and no Papist doctrines?”
“I am what I am, Pilot, but I will try.”
So they began to exchange knowledge cautiously. For Blackthorne it seemed an unfair trade. Alvito’s erudition was enormous, he was a masterly teacher, whereas Blackthorne thought he related only things that any pilot would know. “But that’s not true,” Alvito had said. “You’re a unique pilot, you’ve done incredible things. One of half a dozen on earth, neh?”
Gradually a truce did happen between them and this pleased Mariko.
“This is friendship, Anjin-san, or the beginning of it,” Mariko said.
“No. Not friendship. I distrust him as much as ever, as he does me. We’re perpetual enemies. I’ve forgotten nothing, nor has he. This is a respite, temporary, probably for a special purpose he’d never tell if I were to ask. I understand him and there’s no harm, so long as I don’t drop my guard.”
While he spent time with Alvito, she would ride lazily with Kiku and Gyoko and talk about pillowing and about ways to please men and about the Willow World. In return she told them about her world, sharing what she had witnessed or been part of or learned, about the Dictator Goroda, the Taikō, and even Lord Toranaga, judicious stories about the majestic ones that no commoner would ever know.
A few leagues south of Mishima the river curled away to the west, to fall placidly to the coast and the large port of Numazu, and they left the ravinelike country and pushed across the flat rice paddy plains along the wide busy road that headed northward. There were many streams and tributaries to ford. Some were shallow. Some were deep and very wide and they had to be poled across in flat barges. Very few were spanned. Usually they were all carried across on the shoulders of porters from the plenty that were always stationed nearby for this special purpose, chattering and bidding for that privilege.
This was the seventh day from Yokosé. The road forked and here Father Alvito said he had to leave them. He would take the west path, to return to his ship for a day or so, but he would catch them up and join them again on the road from Mishima to Yedo, if that was permitted. “Of course, you’re both welcome to come with me if you wish.”
“Thank you but, so sorry, there are things I must do in Mishima,” Mariko said.
“Anjin-san? If Lady Mariko’s going to be busy, you’d be welcome by yourself. Our cook’s very good, the wine’s fair. As God is my judge, you’d be safe, and free to come and go as you wish. Rodrigues is aboard.”
Mariko saw that Blackthorne wanted to leave her. How can he? she asked herself with a great sadness. How can he want to leave me when time is so short? “Please go, Anjin-san,” she said. “It would be nice for you—and good to see the Rodrigues, neh?”
But Blackthorne did not go, much as he wanted to. He didn’t trust the priest. Not even for Rodrigues would he put his head in that trap. He thanked Alvito and they watched him ride away.
“Let’s stop now, Anjin-san,” Mariko said, even though it was barely noon. “There’s no hurry, neh?”
“Excellent. Yes, I’d like that.”
“The Father’s a good man but I’m glad he’s gone.”
“So am I. But he’s not a good man. He’s a priest.”
She was taken aback by his vehemence. “Oh, so sorry, Anjin-san, please excuse me for say—”
“It’s not important, Mariko-chan. I told you—nothing’s forgotten. He’ll always be after my hide.” Blackthorne went to find Captain Yoshinaka.
Troubled, she looked down the western fork.
The horses of Father Alvito’s party moved through the other travelers unhurriedly. Some passersby bowed to the small cortege, some knelt in humility, many were curious, many hard-faced. But all moved politely out of the way. Except even the lowest samurai. When Father Alvito met a samurai he moved to the left or to the right and his acolytes followed him.
He was glad to be leaving Mariko and Blackthorne, glad of the break. He had urgent dispatches to send to the Father-Visitor that he had been unable to send because his carrier pigeons had been destroyed in Yokosé. There were so many problems to solve: Toranaga, Uo the fisherman, Mariko, and the pirate. And Joseph, who continued to dog his footsteps.
“What’s he doing there, Captain Yoshinaka?” he had blurted out the first day, when he noticed Joseph among the guards, wearing a military kimono and, awkwardly, swords.
“Lord Toranaga ordered me to take him to Mishima, Tsukku-san. There I’m to turn him over to Lord Hiro-matsu. Oh, so sorry, does the sight of him offend you?”
“No—no,” he had said unconvincingly.
“Ah, you’re looking at his swords? There’s no need to worry. They’re only hilts, they’ve no blades. It’s Lord Toranaga’s orders. Seems as the man was ordered into your Order so young it’s not clear if he should have real swords or not, much as he’s entitled to wear them, much as he wants them. Seems he joined your Order as a child, Tsukku-san. Even so, of course we can’t have a samurai without swords, neh? Uraga-noh-Tadamasa’s certainly samurai though he’s been a barbarian priest for twenty years. Our Master’s wisely made this compromise.”
“What’s going to happen to him?”
“I’m to hand him over to Lord Hiro-matsu. Maybe he’ll be sent back to his uncle for judgment, maybe he’ll stay with us. I only obey orders, Tsukku-san.”
Father Alvito went to speak with Joseph but Yoshinaka had stopped him politely. “So sorry, but my Master also ordered him kept to himself. Away from everyone. Particularly Christians. Until Lord Harima gives a judgment, my Master said. Uraga-san’s Lord Harima’s vassal, neh? Lord Harima’s Christian too. Neh? Lord Toranaga says a Christian daimyo should deal with the Christian renegade. After all, Lord Harima’s his uncle and leader of the house and it was he who ordered him into your keeping in the first place.”