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“Yes, but even so I wouldn’t wish their deaths on anyone.”

“What will Yoshinaka do when he discovers them?” Kiku asked.

“Perhaps he won’t. I pray he won’t. Men are such fools and so stupid. They can’t see the simplest things about women, thanks be to Buddha, bless his name. Let’s pray they’re not discovered until we’ve gone about our business in Yedo. Let’s pray we’re not held responsible. Oh very yes! And this afternoon when we stop, let’s find the nearest shrine and I’ll light ten incense sticks as a god-favor. By all gods I’ll even endow a temple to all gods with three koku yearly for ten years if we escape and if I get my money.”

“But they’re so beautiful together, neh? I’ve never seen a woman blossom so.”

“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.”