Though it was forbidden, Alvito had tried again that night to talk to Joseph privately, to beg him to withdraw his sacrilege and kneel in penance to the Father-Visitor, but the youth had coldly walked away, without listening, and after that, Joseph was always sent far ahead.
Somehow, Holy Madonna, we’ve got to bring him back to the mercy of God, Alvito thought in anguish. What can I do? Perhaps the Father-Visitor will know how to handle Joseph. Yes, and he’ll know what to do about Toranaga’s incredible decision to submit, which in their secret conferences they had discarded as an impossibility. “No—that’s totally against Toranaga’s character,” dell’Aqua had said. “He’ll go to war. When the rains cease, perhaps before, if he can get Zataki to recant and betray Ishido. My forecast is he’ll wait as long as he can and try to force Ishido to make the first move—his usual waiting game. Whatever happens, so long as Kiyama and Onoshi support Ishido and Osaka, the Kwanto will be overrun and Toranaga destroyed.”
“And Kiyama and Onoshi? They’ll keep their enmity buried, for the common good?”
“Yes. They’re totally convinced a Toranaga victory would be the Holy Church’s death knell. Now that Harima will side with Ishido, I’m afraid Toranaga’s a broken dream.”
Civil war again, Alvito thought. Brother against brother, father against son, village against village. Anjiro ready to revolt, armed with stolen muskets, so Uo the fisherman had whispered. And the other frightening news: a secret Musket Regiment almost ready! A modern, European-style cavalry unit of more than two thousand muskets, adapted to Japanese warfare. Oh, Madonna, protect the faithful and curse that heretic. . . .
Such a pity Blackthorne is twisted and mind-deformed. He could be such a valuable ally. I never would have thought that but it’s true. He’s incredibly wise in the ways of the sea and the world. Brave and cunning, honest within his heresy, straight and guileless. Never needs to be told something twice, his memory astonishing. He’s taught me so much about the world. And about himself. Is that wrong? Alvito wondered sadly as he turned to wave at Mariko a last time. Is it wrong to learn about your enemy, and in return, to teach? No. Is it wrong to turn a blind eye to mortal sin?
Three days out from Yokosé, Brother Michael’s observation had shattered him.
“You believe they’re lovers?”
“What is God but love? Isn’t that the Lord Jesus’ word?” Michael had replied. “I only mentioned I saw their eyes touching each other and that it was so beautiful to see. About their bodies I don’t know, Father, and in truth I don’t care. Their souls touch and I seem to be more aware of God because of it.”
“You must be mistaken about them. She’d never do that! It’s against her whole heritage, against her law and the law of God. She’s a devout Christian. She knows adultery’s a hideous sin.”
“Yes, that is what we teach. But her marriage was Shinto, not consecrated before the Lord our God, so is it adultery?”
“Do you also question the Word? Are you infected by Joseph’s heresy?”
“No, Father, please excuse me, never the Word. Only what man has made of it.”
From then on he had watched more closely. Clearly the man and woman liked each other greatly. Why shouldn’t they? Nothing wrong in that! Constantly thrown together, each learning from the other, the woman ordered to put away her religion, the man having none, or only a patina of the Lutheran heresy as dell’Aqua had said was true of all Englishmen. Both strong, vital people, however ill-matched.
At confession she said nothing. He did not press her. Her eyes told him nothing and everything, but never was there anything real to judge. He could hear himself explaining to dell’Aqua, ‘Michael must have been mistaken, Eminence.’
‘But did she commit adultery? Was there any proof?’
‘Thankfully, no proof.’
Alvito reined in and turned back momentarily. He saw her standing on the slight rise, the Pilot talking to Yoshinaka, the old madam and her painted whore lying in their palanquin. He was tormented by the fanatic zeal welling up inside him. For the first time he dared to ask, Have you whored with the Pilot, Mariko-san? Has the heretic damned your soul for all eternity? You, who were chosen in life to be a nun and probably our first native abbess? Are you living in foul sin, unconfessed, desecrated, hiding your sacrilege from your confessor, and thus are you too befouled before God?
He saw her wave. This time he did not acknowledge it but turned his back, jabbed his spurs into his horse’s flanks, and hurried away.
That night their sleep was disturbed.
“What is it, my love?”
“Nothing, Mariko-chan. Go back to sleep.”
But she did not. Nor did he. Long before she had to, she slipped back into her own room, and he got up and sat in the courtyard studying the dictionary under candlelight until dawn. When the sun came and the day warmed, their night cares vanished and they continued their journey peacefully. Soon they reached the great trunk road, the Tokaidō, just east of Mishima, and travelers became more numerous. The vast majority were, as always, on foot, their belongings on their backs. There were a few pack horses on the road and no carriages at all.
“Oh, carriage—that’s something with wheels, neh? They’re of no use in Japan, Anjin-san. Our roads are too steep and always crisscrossed with rivers and streams. Wheels would also ruin the surface of the roads, so they are forbidden to everyone except the Emperor, and he travels a few ceremonial ri in Kyoto on a special road. We don’t need wheels. How can you carry vehicles over a river or stream—and there are too many, far too many to bridge. There are perhaps sixty streams to cross between here and Yedo, Anjin-san. How many have we already had to cross? Dozens, neh? No, we all walk or ride horseback. Of course horses and palanquins particularly are allowed only for important persons, daimyos and samurai, and not even all samurai.”
“What? Even if you can afford one you can’t hire one?”
“Not unless you’ve the correct rank, Anjin-san. That’s very wise, don’t you think? Doctors and the very old can travel by horse or palanquin, or the very sick, if they get permission in writing from their liege lord. Palanquins or horses wouldn’t be right for peasants and commoners, Anjin-san. That could teach them lazy habits, neh? It’s much more healthy for them to walk.”
“Also it keeps them in their place. Neh?”
“Oh, yes. But that all makes for peace and orderliness and wa. Only merchants have money to waste, and what are they but parasites who create nothing, grow nothing, make nothing but feed off another’s labor? Definitely they should all walk, neh? In this we are very wise.”
“I’ve never seen so many people on the move,” Blackthorne said.
“Oh, this is nothing. Wait till we get nearer Yedo. We adore to travel, Anjin-san, but rarely alone. We like to travel in groups.”
But the crowds did not inhibit their progress. The Toranaga cipher that their standards carried, Toda Mariko’s personal rank, and the brusque efficiency of Akira Yoshinaka and the runners he sent ahead to proclaim who followed ensured the best private rooms every night at the best inn, and an uninterrupted passage. All other travelers and samurai quickly stood aside and bowed very low, waiting until they had passed.
“Do they all have to stop and kneel like that to everyone?”