"What?"
"Nothing, nothing Inari-chan. Did you sleep well?"
"What?"
She smiled and let him slide back into sleep. Then, when he was ready, she put her hands and lips on him for his pleasure. And for hers.
"Where's the Ingeles now, Father?"
"I don't know exactly, Rodrigues. Yet. It would be one of the inns south of Mishima. I left a servant to find out which." Alvito gathered up the last of the gravy with a crust of new bread.
"When will you know?"
"Tomorrow, without fail."
"Que va, I'd like to see him again. Is he fit?" Rodrigues asked levelly.
"Yes." The ship's bell sounded six times. Three o'clock in the afternoon.
"Did he tell you what happened to him since he left Osaka?"
"I know parts of it. From him and others. It's a long story and there's much to tell. First I'll deal with my dispatches, then we'll talk. " Rodrigues leaned back in his chair in the small stern cabin. "Good. That'd be very good." He saw the sharp features of the Jesuit, the sharp brown eyes flecked with yellow. Cat's eyes. "Listen, Father," he said, "the Ingeles saved my ship and my life. Sure he's enemy, sure he's heretic, but he's a pilot, one of the best that's ever been. It's not wrong to respect an enemy, even to like one."
"The Lord Jesus forgave his enemies but they still crucified Him." Calmly Alvito returned the pilot's gaze. "But I like him too. At least, I understand him better. Let's leave him for the moment."
Rodrigues nodded agreeably. He noticed the priest's plate was empty so he reached across the table and moved the platter closer. "Here, Father, have some more capon. Bread?"
"Thank you. Yes, I will. I didn't realize how hungry I was." The priest gratefully tore off another leg and took more sage and onion and bread stuffing, then poured the last of the rich gravy over it.
"Wine?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Where are the rest of your people, Father?"
"I left them at an inn near the wharf."
Rodrigues glanced out of the stern bay windows that overlooked Nimazu, the wharfs and the port and, just to starboard, the mouth of the Kano, where the water was darker than the rest of the sea. Many fishing boats were plying back and forth. "This servant you left, Father - you can trust him? You're sure he'll find us?"
"Oh, yes. They'll certainly not move for two days at least." Alvito had already decided not to mention what he, or more truthfully he reminded himself, what Brother Michael suspected, so he just added, "Don't forget they're traveling in state. With Toda Mariko's rank, and Toranaga's banners, they're very much in state. Everyone within four leagues would know about them and where they're staying."
Rodrigues laughed. "The Ingeles in state? Who'd have believed that? Like a poxy daimyo!"
"That's not the half of it, Pilot. Toranaga's made him samurai and hatamoto. "
"What?"
"Now Pilot-Major Blackthorne wears the two swords. With his pistols. And now he's Toranaga's confidant, to a certain extent, and protege."
"The Ingeles?"
"Yes." Alvito let the silence hang in the cabin and went back to eating.
"Do you know the why of it?" Rodrigues asked.
"Yes, in part. All in good time, Pilot."
"Just tell me the why. Briefly. Details later, please."
"The Anjin-san saved Toranaga's life for the third time. Twice during the escape from Osaka, the last in Izu during an earthquake." Alvito chomped lustily on the thigh meat. A thread of juice ran into his black beard.
Rodrigues waited but the priest said no more. Thoughtfully his eyes dropped to the goblet cradled in his hands. The surface of the deep red wine caught the light. After a long pause, he said, "It wouldn't be good for us, that piss-cutting Ingeles close to Toranaga. Not at all. Not him. Eh?"
"I agree."
"Even so, I'd like to see him." The priest said nothing. Rodrigues let him clean his plate in silence, then offered more, the joy gone out of him. The last of the carcass and the final wing were accepted, and another goblet of wine. Then, to finish, some fine French cognac that Father Alvito got from a cupboard.
"Rodrigues? Would you care for a glass?"
"Thank you." The seaman watched Alvito pour the nut-brown liquor into the crystal glass. All the wine and cognac had come from the Father-Visitor's private stock as a parting gift to his Jesuit friend.
"Of course, Rodrigues, you're welcome to share it with the Father," dell'Aqua had said. "Go with God, may He watch over you and bring you safely to port and home again."
"Thank you, Eminence."
Yes, thank you, Eminence, but no God-cursed thanks, Rodrigues told himself bitterly, no thanks for getting my Captain-General to order me aboard this pigboat under this Jesuit's command and out of my Gracia's arms, poor darling. Madonna, life's so short, too short and too treacherous to waste being chaperone to gut-stinking priests, even Alvito who's more of a man than any and, because of that, more dangerous. Madonna, give me some help!
"Oh! You reave, Rod-san? Reave so soon? Oh, so sorry...."
"Soon come back, my darling."
"Oh, so sorry . . . we miss, ritt'e one and I."
For a moment he had considered taking her aboard the Santa Filipa, but instantly dismissed the thought, knowing it to be perilous for her and for him and for the ship. "So sorry, back soon."
"We wait, Rod-san. Please excuse my sad, so sorry."
Always the hesitant, heavily accented Portuguese she tried so hard to speak, insisting that she be called by her baptismal name Gracia and not by the lovely-sounding Nyan-nyan, which meant Kitten and suited her so well and pleased him better.
He had sailed away from Nagasaki, hating to leave, cursing all priests and captain-generals, wanting an end to summer and autumn so he could up-anchor the Black Ship, her holds weighed now with bullion, to head for home at long last, rich and independent. But then what? The perpetual question swamped him. What about her - and the child? Madonna, help me to answer that with peace.
"An excellent meal, Rodrigues," Alvito said, toying with a crumb on the table. "Thank you."
"Good." Rodrigues was serious now. "What's your plan, Father? We should-" He stopped in mid-sentence and glanced out of the windows. Then, dissatisfied, he got up from the table and limped painfully over to a land side porthole and peered out.
"What is it, Rodrigues?"