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“Retreat and regroup!” Yabu shouted in one of the corridors leading off the main landing, wanting to delay as much as he dared, presuming that Mariko was already captured and being carried to the cellar escape below, expecting at any moment the overdue clarion call that signaled success and ordered all ninja to break off the attack and retreat. Then a force of Browns from above hurtled in a suicidal attack from a staircase and broke the cordon. They died but others also disobeyed Yabu and charged. More bombs were thrown, setting fire to the wall hangings. Flames began to lick the walls, sparks ignited the tatamis. A sudden gush of fire trapped one of the ninja, turning him into a screaming human torch. Then a samurai’s kimono caught and he threw himself onto another ninja and they burned together. A blazing samurai was using his sword like a battle-ax to cut a way through the ambushers. Ten samurai followed and, though two died in their tracks and three fell mortally wounded, the rest broke out and tore for the east wing. Soon another ten followed. Yabu led the next charge safely as the remaining ninja made an orderly retreat to the ground floor and their escape route below. The battle for possession of the cul-de-sac in the east wing began.

In the small room they were staring at the door. They could hear the attackers scraping at the hinges and at the floor. Then there was a sudden hammering and a harsh, muffled voice from outside.

Two of the maids began to sob.

“What did he say?” Blackthorne asked.

Mariko licked her dry lips. “He—he said, to open the door and surrender or he’d—he’d blow it up.”

“Can they do that, Mariko-san?”

“I don’t know. They . . . they can use gunpowder, of course, and—” Mariko’s hand went to her sash but came out empty. “Where’s my knife?”

All the women went for their daggers. Kiri had none. Sazuko none. Nor Achiko or Lady Etsu. Blackthorne had armed his pistol and had his long sword. The short sword had fallen during his frantic dash for safety.

The muffled voice became angrier and more demanding, and all eyes in the room looked at Blackthorne. But Mariko knew she was betrayed and her time had come.

“He said, if we open the door and surrender, everyone will go free except you.” Mariko brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “He said they want you as a hostage, Anjin-san. That’s all they want. . . .”

Blackthorne walked forward to open the door, but Mariko stood pathetically in his way.

“No, Anjin-san, it’s a trick,” she said. “So sorry, they don’t want you, they want me! Don’t believe them, I don’t believe them.”

He smiled at her and touched her briefly and reached for one of the bolts.

“It’s not you, it’s me—it’s a trick! I swear it! Don’t believe them, please,” she said, and grabbed his sword. It was half out of its scabbard before he realized what she was doing and had caught her hand.

“No!” he ordered. “Stop it!”

“Don’t give me into their hands! I’ve no knife! Please, Anjin-san!” She tried to fight out of his grasp but he lifted her out of the way and put his hand on the top bolt. “Dozo,” he said to the others as Mariko desperately tried to stop him. Achiko came forward, pleading with her, and Mariko tried to push her away and cried out, “Please, Anjin-san, it’s a trick—for the love of God!”

His hand jerked the top bolt open.

“They want me alive,” Mariko shouted wildly. “Don’t you see? To capture me, don’t you see? They want me alive and then it’s all for nothing—tomorrow Toranaga’s got to cross the border—I beg you, it’s a trick, before God. . . .”

Achiko had her arms around Mariko, pleading with her, pulling her away, and she motioned him to open the door. “Isogi, isogi, Anjin-san. . . .”

Blackthorne opened the central bolt.

“For the love of God, don’t make all the dying useless! Help me! Remember your vow!”

Now the reality of what she was saying reached him, and in panic he shoved home the bolts. “Why should—”

A ferocious pounding on the door interrupted him, iron clanging on iron, then the voice began, a short violent crescendo. All sound outside ceased. The women fled for the far wall and cowered against it.

“Get away from the door,” Mariko shouted, rushing after them. “He’s going to explode the door!”

“Delay him, Mariko-san,” Blackthorne said and leaped for the side door that led to the battlements. “Our men’ll be here soon. Work the bolts, say they’re stuck—anything.” He strained at the top bolt on the side door but it was rusted tight. Obediently Mariko ran to the door and pretended feeble attempts to shift the central bolt, pleading with the ninja outside. Then she began to rattle the lower bolt. Again the voice, more insistent, and Mariko redoubled her weeping pleas.