"Yes, but she'll wither like a broken camellia when she's accused before Buntaro-san. Their karma is their karma and there's nothing we can do about them. Or about Lord Toranaga-or even Omi-san. Don't cry, child."
"Poor Omi-san."
Omi had overtaken them on the third day. He had stayed at their inn, and after the evening meal he had spoken privately to Kiku, asking her formally to join him for all eternity.
"Willingly, Omi-san, willingly," she had answered at once, allowing herself to cry, for she liked him very much. "But my duty to Lord Toranaga who favored me, and to Gyoko-san who formed me, forbids it."
"But Lord Toranaga's forfeited his rights to you. He's surrendered. He's finished."
"But his contract isn't, Omi-san, much as I wish it. His contract's legal and binding. Please excuse me, I must refuse"
"Don't answer now, Kiku-san. Think about it. Please, I beg you. Tomorrow give me your answer," he said and left her.
But her tearful answer had been the same. "I can't be so selfish, Omi-san. Please forgive me. My duty to Lord Toranaga and to Gyoko-san - I can't, much as I'd wish it. Please forgive me."
He had argued. More private tears flowed. They had sworn perpetual, adoration and then she had sent him away with a promise: "If the contract's broken, or Lord Toranaga dies and I'm freed, then I'll do whatever you want, I'll obey whatever you order." And so he had left the inn and rode on ahead to Mishima filled with foreboding, and she had dried her tears and repaired her makeup. Gyoko complimented her. "You're so wise, child. Oh, how I wish the Lady Toda had half your wisdom."
Yoshinaka led leisurely from inn to inn along the course of the river Kano as it meandered northward to the sea, falling in with the delays that always seemed to happen, not caring about time. Toranaga had told him privately there was no need to hurry, providing he delivered his charges safely to Yedo by the new moon. "I'd prefer them there later than sooner, Yoshinaka-san. You understand?"
"Yes, Sire," he had replied. Now he blessed his guarding kami for giving him the respite. At Mishima with Lord Hiro-matsu - or at Yedo with Lord Toranaga - he would have to make his obligatory report, verbally and in writing. Then he would have to decide whether he should tell what he thought, not what he had been so careful not to see. Eeeeee, he told himself appalled, surely I'm mistaken. The Lady Toda? Her and any man, let alone the barbarian!
Isn't it your duty to see? he asked himself. To obtain proof. To catch them behind closed doors, bedded together. You'll be condemned yourself for collusion if you don't, neh? It'd be so easy, even though they're very careful.
Yes, but only a fool would bring such tidings, he thought. Isn't it better to play the dullard and pray no one betrays them and so betrays you? Her life's ended, we're all doomed, so what does it matter? Turn your eyes away. Leave them to their karma. What does it matter?
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 Taiko, 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 Yokose. 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.