The shoulders stopped trembling. Joseph looked up. “I accept everything you’ve ordered, Father,” he said, “and I apologize with all my heart, with all my soul. I beg your forgiveness as I will beg His forgiveness forever. But I will not be lashed like a common criminal.”
“You-will-be-scourged!”
“Please excuse me, Father,” Joseph said. “In the name of the Blessed Madonna, it’s not the pain. Pain is nothing to me, death is nothing to me. That I’m damned and will burn in hellfire for all eternity may be my
“Your pride sickens me. It’s not for the pain you’re to be punished, but to remove your disgusting pride. Common criminal? Where is your humility? Our Lord Jesus Christ endured mortification. And he died with common criminals.”
“Yes. That’s our major problem here, Father.”
“What?”
“Please excuse my bluntness, Father, but if the King of Kings had not died like a common criminal on the cross, samurai could accept—”
“Stop!”
“—Christianity more easily. The Society’s wise to avoid preaching Christ crucified like the other Orders—”
Like an avenging angel, Alvito held up his cross as a shield in front of him. “In the name of God, keep silent and obey or-you-are-excommunicated! Seize him and strip him!”
The others came to life and moved forward, but Joseph sprang to his feet. A knife appeared in his hand from under his robes. He put his back to the wall. Everyone stopped in his tracks. Except Brother Michael. Brother Michael came forward slowly and calmly, his hand outstretched. “Please give me the knife, Brother,” he said gently.
“No. Please excuse me.”
“Then pray for me, Brother, as I pray for you.” Michael quietly reached up for the weapon.
Joseph darted a few paces back, then readied for a death thrust. “Forgive me, Michael.”
Michael continued to approach.
“Michael, stop! Leave him alone,” Alvito commanded.
Michael obeyed, inches from the hovering blade.
Then Alvito said, ashen, “God have mercy on you, Joseph. You are excommunicated. Satan has possessed your soul on earth as he will possess it after death. Get thee gone!”
“I renounce the Christian God! I’m Japanese—I’m Shinto. My soul’s my own now. I’m not afraid,” Joseph shouted. “Yes, we’ve pride—unlike barbarians. We’re Japanese, we’re not barbarians. Even our peasants are not barbarians.”
Gravely Alvito made the sign of the cross as protection for all of them and fearlessly turned his back on the knife. “Let us pray together, Brothers. Satan is in our midst.”
The others also turned away, many sadly, some still in shock. Only Michael remained where he was, looking at Joseph. Joseph ripped off his rosary and cross. He was going to hurl it away but Michael held out his hand again. “Please, Brother, please give it to me—it is such a simple gift,” he said.
Joseph looked at him a long moment, then he gave it to him. “Please excuse me.”
“I will pray for you,” Michael said.
“Didn’t you hear? I’ve renounced God!”
“I will pray that God will not renounce you, Uraga-noh-Tadamasa-san.”
“Forgive me, Brother,” Joseph said. He stuck the knife in his sash, jerked the door open, and walked blindly along the corridor out onto the veranda. People watched him curiously, among them Uo the fisherman, who was waiting patiently in the shadows. Joseph crossed the courtyard and went toward the gate. A samurai stood in his way.
“Halt!”
Joseph stopped.
“Where are you going, please?”
“I’m sorry, please excuse me, I—I don’t know.”
“I serve Lord Toranaga. So sorry, I couldn’t help hearing what went on in there. The whole inn must have heard. Shocking bad manners . . . shocking for your leader to shout like that and disturb the peace. And you too. I’m on duty here. I think it’s best you see the officer of my watch.”
“I think—thank you, I’ll go the other way. Please excuse—”
“You’ll go nowhere, so sorry. Except to see my officer.”
“What? Oh—yes. Yes, I’m sorry, of course.” Joseph tried to make his brain work.
“Good. Thank you.” The samurai turned as another samurai approached from the bridge and saluted.
“I’m to fetch the Tsukku-san for Lord Toranaga.”
“Good. You’re expected.”
Toranaga watched the tall priest approach across the clearing, the flickering light of the torches making the lean face starker than usual above the blackness of his beard. The priest’s orange Buddhist robe was elegant and a rosary and cross hung at his waist.
Ten paces away Father Alvito stopped, knelt, and bowed deferentially, beginning the customary formalities.
Toranaga was sitting alone on the dais, guards in a semicircle around him, well out of hearing. Only Blackthorne was nearby and he lolled against the platform as he had been ordered, his eyes boring into the priest. Alvito appeared not to notice him.
“It is good to see you, Sire,” Father Alvito said when it was polite to do so.
