Blackthorne walked out to the veranda. He stepped into his thongs and nodded to his servants, who had been assembled in a neat line to bow him off, as was custom.
It was a drab day. The sky was overcast and a warm wet wind came off the sea. The steppingstones that were set into the gravel of the path were wet with the rain that had fallen in the night.
Beyond the gate were the horses and his ten samurai outriders. And Mariko.
She was already mounted and wore a pale yellow mantle over pale green silk trousers, a wide-brimmed hat and veil held with yellow ribbons, and gloves. A rain parasol was ready in its saddle-sheath.
"Ohayo," he said formally. "Ohayo, Mariko-san."
"Ohayo, Anjin-san. lkaga desu ka?"
"Okagesama de genki desu. Anata wa?"
She smiled. "Yoi, arigato goziemashita."
She gave not the faintest hint that anything was different between them. But he expected none, not in public, knowing how dangerous the situation was. Her perfume came over him and he would have liked to kiss her here, in front of everyone.
"Ikimasho!" he said and swung into the saddle, motioning the samurai to ride off ahead. He walked his horse leisurely and Mariko fell into place beside him. When they were alone, he relaxed.
"Mariko."
"Hai?"
Then he said in Latin, "Thou art beautiful and I love thee."
"I thank thee, but so much wine last night makes my head to feel not beautiful today, not in truth, and love is a Christian word. "
"Thou art beautiful and Christian, and wine could not touch thee."
"Thank thee for the lie, Anjin-san, yes, thank thee."
"No. I should thank thee."
"Oh? Why?"
"Never 'why,' no 'why.' I thank thee sincerely."
"If wine and meat make thee so warm and fine and gallant," she said, "then I must tell thy consort to move the heaven and the earth to obtain them for thee every evening."
"Yes. I would have everything the same, always."
"Thou art untoward happy today," she said. "Good, very good. But why? Why truly?"
"Because of thee. Thou knowest why."
"I know nothing, Anjin-san."
"Nothing?" he teased.
"Nothing."
He was taken aback. They were quite alone, and safe.
"Why doth 'nothing' take the heart out of thy smile?" she asked.
"Stupidity! Absolute stupidity! I forgot that it is most wise to be cautious. It was only that we were alone and I wanted to speak of it. And, in truth, to say more."
"Thou speakest in riddles. I do not understand thee."
He was nonplussed again. "Thou dost not wish to talk about it? At all?"
"About what, Anjin-san?"
"What passed in the night then?"
"I passed thy door in the night when my maid, Koi, was with thee. "
"What?"
"We, your consort and I, we thought she would be a pleasing gift for thee. She pleased thee, did she not?"
Blackthorne was trying to recover. Mariko's maid was her size but younger and never so fair and never so pretty, and yes, it was pitch dark and yes, his head was fogged with wine but no, it was not the maid.
"That's not possible," he said in Portuguese.
"What's not possible, senhor?" she asked in the same language.
He reverted to Latin again, as the outriders were not far away, the wind blowing in their direction. "Please do not joke with me. No one can hear. I know a presence and a perfume."
"Thou thinkest it was me? Oh, it was not, Anjin-san. I would be honored but I could never possibly . . . however much I might want - oh no, Anjin-san. It was not me but Koi, my maid. I would be honored, but I belong to another even though he's dead."
"Yes, but it wasn't your maid." He bit back his anger. "But leave it as thou desirest."
"It was my maid, Anjin-san," she said placatingly. "We anointed her with my perfume and instructed her: no words, only touch. We never thought for a moment thou wouldst consider her to be me! This was not to trick thee but for thine ease, knowing that discussing things of the pillow still embarrasses thee. " She was looking at him with wide, innocent eyes. "She pleasured thee, Anjin-san? Thou pleasured her."
"A joke concerning things of great importance is sometimes without humor. "
"Things of great import will always be treated with great import. But a maid in the night with a man is without import."
"I do not consider thee without import."
"I thank thee. I say that equally. But a maid in the night with a man is private and without import. It is a gift from her to him and, sometimes, from him to her. Nothing more."
"Never?"
"Sometimes. But this private pillow matter does not have this vast seriousness of thine."