What if Buntaro knew the truth? Or Toranaga? About the pillowing...
"Are you insane?" Fujiko had said that first night.
"No."
"Then why are you going to take the maid's place?"
"Because of the sake and for amusement, Fujiko-chan, and for curiosity," she had lied, hiding the real reason: because he excited her, she wanted him, she had never had a lover. If it was not tonight it would never be, and it had to be the Anjin-san and only the Anjin-san.
So she had gone to him and had been transported and then, yesterday, when the galley arrived, Fujiko had said privately, "Would you have gone if you'd known your husband was alive?"
"No. Of course not," she had lied.
"But now you're going to tell Buntaro-sama, neh? About pillowing with the Anjin-san?"
"Why should I do that?"
"I thought that might be your plan. If you tell Buntaro-sama at the right time his rage will burst over you and you'll be gratefully dead before he knows what he's done."
"No, Fujiko-san, he'll never kill me. Unfortunately. He'll send me to the eta if he has excuse enough - if he could get Lord Toranaga's approval - but he'll never kill me."
"Adultery with the Anjin-san - would that be enough?"
"Oh yes."
"What would happen to your son?"
"He would inherit my disgrace, if I am disgraced, neh?"
"Please tell me if you ever think Buntaro-sama suspects what happened. While I'm consort, it's my duty to protect the Anjin-san."
Yes, it is, Fujiko, Mariko had thought then. And that would give you the excuse to take open vengeance on your father's accuser that you are desperate for. But your father was a coward, so sorry, poor Fujiko. Hiro-matsu was there, otherwise your father would be alive now and Buntaro dead, for Buntaro is hated far more than they ever despised your father. Even the swords you prize so much, they were never given as a battle honor, they were bought from a wounded samurai. So sorry, but I'll never be the one to tell you, even though that also is the truth.
"I'm not afraid of him," Blackthorne was saying again.
"I know," she said, the pain taking her. "But please, I beg you, be afraid of him for me."
Blackthorne went for the door.
Buntaro was waiting for him a hundred paces away in the center of the path that led down to the village - squat, immense, and deadly. The guard stood beside him. It was an overcast dawn. Fishing boats were already working the shoals, the sea calm.
Blackthorne saw the bow loose in Buntaro's hands, and the swords, and the guard's swords. Buntaro was swaying slightly and this gave him hope that the man's aim would be off, which might give him time to get close enough. There was no cover beside the path. Beyond caring, he cocked both pistols and bore down on the two men.
To hell with cover, he thought through the haze of his blood lust, knowing at the same time that what he was doing was insane, that he had no chance against the two samurai or the long-range bow, that he had no rights whatsoever to interfere. And then, while he was still out of pistol range, Buntaro bowed low, and so did the guard. Blackthorne stopped, sensing a trap. He looked all around but there was no one near. As though in a dream, he saw Buntaro sink heavily onto his knees, put his bow aside, his hands flat on the ground, and bow to him as a peasant would bow to his lord. The guard did likewise.
Blackthorne stared at them, dazed. When he was sure his eyes were not tricking him, he came forward slowly, pistols ready but not leveled, expecting treachery. Within easy range he stopped. Buntaro had not moved. Custom dictated that he should kneel and return the salutation because they were equals or near equals but he could not understand why there should be such unbelievable deferential ceremony in a situation like this where blood was going to flow.
"Get up, you son of a bitch!" Blackthorne readied to pull both triggers.
Buntaro said nothing, did nothing, but kept his head bowed, his hands flat. The back of his kimono was soaked with sweat.
"Nan ja?" Blackthorne deliberately used the most insulting way of asking "What is it?" wanting to bait Buntaro into getting up, into beginning, knowing that he could not shoot him like this, with his head down and almost in the dust.
Then, conscious that it was rude to stand while they were kneeling and that the "nan ja" was an almost intolerable and certainly unnecessary insult, Blackthorne knelt and, holding onto the pistols, put both hands on the ground and bowed in return.
He sat back on his heels. "Hai?" he asked with forced politeness.
At once Buntaro began mumbling. Abjectly. Apologizing. For what and exactly why, Blackthorne did not know. He could only catch a word here and another there and sake many times, but clearly it was an apology and a humble plea for forgiveness. Buntaro went on and on. Then he ceased and put his head down into the dust again.
Blackthorne's blinding rage had vanished by now. "Shigata ga nai," he said huskily, which meant, "it can't be helped," or "there's nothing to be done," or "what could you do?" not knowing yet if the apology was merely ritual, prior to attack. "Shigata ga nai. Hakkiri wakaranu ga shinpai surukotowanai." It can't be helped. I don't understand exactly - but don't worry.
Buntaro looked up and sat back. "Arigato-arigato, Anjin-sama. Domo gomen nasai."
"Shigata ga nai," Blackthorne repeated and, now that it was clear the apology was genuine, he thanked God for giving him the miraculous opportunity to call off the duel. He knew that he had no rights, he had acted like a madman, and that the only way to resolve the crisis with Buntaro was according to rules. And that meant Toranaga.
But why the apology, he was asking himself frantically. Think! You've got to learn to think like them.
Then the solution rushed into his brain. It must be because I'm hatamoto, and Buntaro, the guest, disturbed the wa, the harmony of my house. By having a violent open quarrel with his wife in my house, he insulted me, therefore he's totally in the wrong and he has to apologize whether he means it or not. An apology's obligatory from one samurai to another, from a guest to a host....
Wait! And don't forget that by their custom, all men are allowed to get drunk, are expected to get drunk sometimes, and when drunk they are not, within reason, responsible for their actions. Don't forget there's no loss of face if you get stinking drunk. Remember how unconcerned Mariko and Toranaga were on the ship when I was stupefied. They were amused and not disgusted, as we'd be.
And aren't you really to blame? Didn't you start the drinking bout? Wasn't it your challenge?
"Yes," he said aloud.
"Nan desu ka, Anjin-san?" Buntaro asked, his eyes bloodshot.
"Nani mo. Watashi no kashitsu desu." Nothing. It was my fault.
Buntaro shook his head and said that no, it was only his fault and he bowed and apologized again.
"Sake," Blackthorne said with finality and shrugged. "Shigata ga nai. Sake!"
Buntaro bowed and thanked him again. Blackthorne returned it and got up. Buntaro followed, and the guard. Both bowed once more. Again it was returned.
At length Buntaro turned and reeled away. Blackthorne waited until he was out of arrow range, wondering if the man was as drunk as he appeared to be. Then he went back to his own house.
Fujiko was on the veranda, once more within her polite, smiling shell. What are you really thinking, he asked himself as he greeted her, and was welcomed back.
Mariko's door was closed. Her maid stood beside it.
"Mariko-san?"
"Yes, Anjin-san?"
He waited but the door stayed closed. "Are you all right?"