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The Eightfold Fence

Part SIX

The samurai on the main gate saluted the little convoy respectfully as it passed. Their slow progress through the town had been nerve-stretching, Blackthorne's hand always on the hilt of his sword as imagined and unimaginable terrors lurked in every shadow, but they were not molested in any way. Idly he wondered how Rodrigues had disposed of Soldi's body, and whether it had been found yet; he had made a point of not asking the pilot where the incident had taken place, but he knew exactly where he himself would have laid an ambush on this route and there certainly seemed to be fresh blood on the road at that point. It was difficult to tell, as the moon was behind a cloud and the flares they carried with them showed only a dully reflecting surface; it could have been anything, but Blackthorne was inclined to believe he had identified the place where Soldi had died.

'Tell me I won't have to kill a priest', Rodrigues had begged, and Blackthorne had assured him it would not be necessary. Well, that had been a pious hope that went unfulfilled - and yet Rodrigues' conscience had not seemed unduly troubled by what he had done, apart from an understandable desire not to face Alvito with the knowledge of his actions. However it could very well be that Rodrigues had underestimated his countryman. The last threads of Martin's loyalty had been sundered at his excommunication; surely even his charitable heart would find pity for Soldi or anger at his death almost impossible.

Within the confines of Toranaga's own holding it was possible to relax a little. Blackthorne nodded sharp acknowledgement of the salute they received, then turned to smile tautly at his companion. Alvito was slightly out of breath from the swiftness of the journey, from sudden activity after his captivity. The smile he returned was faint and exhausted.

"Sleep," Blackthorne said, in Portuguese. "That's what you need, and plenty of it."

"I agree, but I think that may have to wait." Glancing up, he directed Blackthorne's attention to Naga and Omi descending towards them, with two footsoldiers carrying flares accompanying them. Reluctantly Blackthorne schooled his face into a welcoming expression and greeted the two Japanese formally.

"Naga-san. Omi-san. Konbanwa."

Returning his greeting, Naga turned immediately to Alvito. "Tsukku-san, ikaga desu ka?"

"Thank you, Naga-san, I'm well enough but very tired."

"Hai, Tsukku-san, I understand, but Toranaga-sama orders you both to attend him immediately. I think," he added, cautiously, "he's very angry about something. That barbarian who was here earlier annoyed him."

Blackthorne, reflecting on how much Toranaga disliked being forced to act in haste, could well understand that Rodrigues' sudden and unannounced appearance would have caused considerable disturbance to the orderly routine of Castle life, and indeed as Naga conducted them up the long stone stairway and into the Castle itself there seemed to be a considerable bustle of activity taking place despite the late hour. Guards were at their accustomed posts in corridors and at stairways and outside important rooms, but there were more of them than Blackthorne could recall seeing at any time since Toranaga had become master of Ishido's stronghold, and a surprising number of the women of the household were also milling about. Resignedly he dismissed their presence as the result of overpowering curiosity; by now everyone from Naga down to the garden boy knew exactly what had been happening, and why. They had all crowded around - under the pretence of having urgent things to do in the middle of the night - to take a glance at the priest at the centre of such undignified proceedings, to obtain some vicarious pleasure from imagining the two barbarians together, and to observe if there should be any embarrassing indiscretion between the two foreigners. Although the Anjin had almost the manners of a Japanese - of a very well-brought-up country person, perhaps - there was always the nagging uncertainty that he might do something completely alien to their customs and good taste, something that just crossed the borderline between amusing and annoying. At his side Alvito was pale, red-eyed, but neatly groomed and clean; a man who had suffered, certainly, but was determined to overcome physical weakness. They exchanged no words as they climbed the main staircase towards the reception room; in fact, it was observed that they did not so much glance at one another. What sort of love was this, that could not bear to look towards its beloved? The Japanese, pausing in their make-work tasks to watch the foreigners pass, had no answers.

Naga paused outside the elaborately-painted shoji of the reception room, nodded to the guards, and the screens were parted briskly. It was no surprise to Blackthorne that Toranaga was already in his place on the dais, apparently awaiting them with some impatience. His gaze on them as they made their bows was stony and cold, his earlier avuncular concern dispelled perhaps by the lateness of the hour and the irregular nature of their conduct. Obeying his imperious gesture they stepped forward, bowed again, and knelt before him in the approved manner. Naga and his samurai, meanwhile, took up places in the room appropriate to their rank.

Toranaga took a long time to examine both faces before he spoke, assessing the dutiful expressions of their countenances, the barely-suppressed admixture of terror and delight they experienced in one another's company, the misgivings his own harshness was producing in them. At length he said, gruffly; "So, Anjin. Yet again you have put me to a great deal of inconvenience on your behalf."

Blackthorne nodded. "Yes, Toranaga-sama. I'm very sorry, but I thank you for your help. Domo arigato gozaimashita."

"Hmmm. There may come a time, Anjin, when mere thanks are not quite enough. When some repayment may be required of you."

"Yes, Sire. I understand."

With a dismissive grunt, Toranaga turned his attention to Alvito. "Tsukku-san," he said, carefully, "I made you a gift of clothing. I understand some of it has fallen into the possession of the Christian daimyo. It is not good manners to be so neglectful of a gift from a superior person."

"No, Toranaga-sama, it is not. I humbly apologise for my carelessness." Bowing, he glanced up to see Blackthorne regarding him with a thunderstruck expression.

The man had just been released from a death sentence, and here he was apologising for the loss of a kimono? There were aspects of the Japanese character he still found it difficult to reconcile himself to, and it seemed to him that Alvito's contrition was a totally disproportionate reaction in the circumstances. Yet the priest had a slight, confident smile on his lips and there appeared to be some understanding passing between him and Toranaga. It was too late at night for one of Toranaga's bizarre word-games, and Blackthorne's temper was beginning to fray.

"Very well. You will pay me a small fine for your negligence. Shall we say twenty koku?" The warlord was suddenly brisk and businesslike, gesturing to a scribe who sat a short distance away to record the transaction.

Alvito's stern glance in his direction forestalled Blackthorne's protest before it could be spoken. Instead the former priest bent his head respectfully and said; "Sire, it is a very fair decision but I regret that I do not possess twenty koku. I have no possessions except the clothes I am wearing and one pistol recently given to me by Captain Rodrigues, and I have no way of earning my living in order to repay you. Is there some other way I can make amends for my carelessness?"

His bluff called, Toranaga allowed himself the semblance of a smile. "Yes," he said, "I had intended to speak to you about those clothes you are wearing. Most unsuitable for a person of your rank. Has that garment you are wearing any value?"

"My cassock, Toranaga-sama? It is silk, but it is not new and has been worn many times. Its value is very small - except, perhaps, as a remembrance of my service to God."

"Is your service to God ended, then?"

"No, Sire, I hope not."

"So desu ka. Well, it is my decision that your 'cassock' is worth twenty koku. I will accept it in payment for the kimono; when it is clean you may present it to me."

"I will, Sire, and gratefully."

"And the next time I see you I will expect you to be properly dressed, neh?"

"Yes, Toranaga-sama."

"Good. As the head of the Minowara family - one of the oldest and most respected samurai families in Japan - I expect the members of that family, however junior, to conduct themselves with dignity. I have not taken you out of the service of your former daimyo and adopted you as a relation only in order to have you treat me with the disrespect you showed towards him."

A startled gasp from Alvito drew Blackthorne's attention towards him and away from Toranaga. Unwittingly he leaned a little closer, as if the man might be in need of his protection, but Alvito was only struggling to master his own astonishment. "Is something the matter?" Blackthorne asked, concernedly.

"Nothing. Only ... Toranaga-sama, I'm afraid I don't quite understand. I thought that the document Buntaro-san delivered to the Bishop was only a ... a device, a trick. Is it possible ... I did not think a lord of your importance would wish to adopt a foreigner into his own family."

The expression on the daimyo's face was still stern. These were serious matters, and even though he retained great affection for both foreigners it was politic not to allow them to see it for the time being. His anger with them and their gratitude to him were the only things of importance at the moment. The rest could come later. "I am surprised, Anjin-no Tsukku, that you would consider me capable of forging an official document," he said, harshly. "Your captivity at the mission must have unsettled your reason. Naturally the patent of adoption was a genuine one, and of course it was sealed before I invited you on the hunting trip. It would not be proper to invite a Christian priest on such a journey, but you were invited as a distant relation of mine. I would not normally accept a person of foreign birth as a relation, but I am convinced that you have no intention of fathering any children who would dilute our bloodline. If you ever did so, their lives would be forfeit."

Alarmed, Alvito found his mind unequal to the task of interpreting all the ramifications of Toranaga's words. Instead he fastened on what seemed the simplest detail. "Sire, please be assured that I have never had any desire to ... to make children. I shall never put you to the inconvenience of disposing of any child of mine."

Toranaga nodded. "So," he said, approvingly. "That being the case, then, you now enjoy all the rights and privileges of a member of the Minowara family. You are Japanese. You are samurai, and hatamoto. I understand that you have no sword, and no knowledge of how to use one?"

"No, Sire. I have had no training as a warrior."

"That's bad. I require my samurai to be capable swordsmen. Anjin, you will give Tsukku-san your sword 'Oil-seller' and the katana that goes with it, and you will instruct him in their use. Omi, you may also help in this instruction. Buntaro, you may teach him bowmanship. You are no longer a priest, Tsukku-san; to be of service to me, you must be able to fight."

"Wakarimasu, Toranaga-sama. I will do my best to learn all that these warriors can teach me."

"So desu ka. I will have more instructions for you tomorrow, but tonight you will rest and refresh yourself. From tomorrow you are a new person, in a new life. It is a privilege granted to few men, my friend. I rely on you not to waste it."

Bowing low, Alvito seemed to be fighting an access of emotion. "Sire, I will try to be worthy of your great favour," he said softly. "Domo arigato gozaimashita."

Dismissively Toranaga turned his attention to Blackthorne, allowing Alvito a moment to recover his composure. "It is reported to me that a European has been killed in the streets of Osaka," he said, briskly. "A priest whose name was Soldi. Do you know anything about this?"

"Not directly, Sire, but I have been told that one of Buntaro-san's men was forced to kill a gaijin in order to defend Rodrigo-san's life. I heard, Sire, that it was a most courageous act. I know Rodrigo-san was very grateful."

The answer seemed to satisfy Toranaga. "Hmmm. And where is the foreign pilot now?"

Blackthorne answered with raised eyebrows, signalling both to Toranaga and to the others present that he was well aware that the warlord had known the answer to that question long before he asked it. It would be most surprising if he was not intimately acquainted with every one of Rodrigues' actions of this evening.

"The Black Ship has sailed, Toranaga-sama. Captain Rodrigues sailed with it. We were present on the quay and can attest to that."

"Then it is settled," Toranaga said, firmly. "You are no longer foreigners, you are Japanese. Either of you may worship whatever gods you choose, but you will do so privately. Attendance at any Christian service is forbidden you, unless it is conducted by you in your own apartments. You are samurai first, Christians second. Do you understand?"

The two foreign samurai acknowledged his command. "Yes, Sire."

"Good. Tsukku-san, you will reside in the Anjin's quarters to begin with. If you require separate accommodation in due course you may request it. And before you leave, there is something you should both know." Casting off his mask of displeasure he leaned forward as though confidentially, although his words were still audible throughout the room. "Whatever may be known about a person's pillowing - about his preferences, or his habits - in his own room his privacy is inviolable. Our buildings are made of wood, my friends, and our walls are made of paper, and as we are an inquisitive race of people and we like to gossip you might suspect that we were also a race of spies. Everyone is curious to see you, to watch you together; it's only natural. When a man and woman marry there is always the same curiosity among ill-educated people who have nothing better to think about. It will pass in time; they will find some other entertainment. For tonight, remember this; in Japan, lovers - any lovers - have the privilege of a special privacy. Whatever lovers may say or do when they are alone together takes place behind an eightfold fence - a strong defence between themselves and the world. There is no-one in this Castle who would trespass across that fence. Though your walls are made of paper, no-one can hear or see what may occur behind them. In public, people may stare - but they would all give their lives to protect your privacy."

To Blackthorne, who had been instructed by Mariko in the Japanese notions of secrecy about pillowing matters, this open re-statement of the concept of the eightfold fence seemed to be directed quite as much at the attendants in the reception room as it was to himself and Alvito. In assuring them of their privacy, Toranaga was also issuing an oblique warning to anyone who might be tempted to let his prurient curiosity get the better of him. Glancing towards Alvito he caught sight of the last remnant of a fading blush, so endearingly unfamiliar on the usually confident features. Suddenly there was amusement, even triumph, in the situation; it was not the aftermath of an unpleasant battle of wills between Toranaga and Bishop Mendoza, it was the beginning of a startling new set of challenges. For Blackthorne, although he had been slow to recognise it, it was victory.

Despite Toranaga's reassuring words it was not easy to retain either their dignity or their confidence on the short journey from the reception room to Blackthorne's quarters. The passages still seemed more than ordinarily bustling for the time of night, and many of the guard samurai seemed to be smirking knowingly as though contemplating the scenes that would take place in the shelter of that eightfold fence. Blackthorne, however, managed to retain sufficient presence of mind to dismiss all but two trusted men who were placed in the corridor immediately outside. Then, sliding back the shoji, he stepped aside for Alvito to enter the room ahead of him. Tiny lanterns had been set at intervals around the floor, and two futons placed side-by-side in the centre of the room. A chill of fear ran through Blackthorne as he tried to remember what commands he had issued in those frantic minutes before he went down to the ship; he didn't think he had ordered the room to be set out like this, but he hardly knew what he had said. A tray of sake on a low table drew his attention. He certainly felt the need of a drink after the day he had just endured - and belatedly he realised that however much he had suffered, Alvito had suffered still more.

"Will you sit?" he asked, softly. "Perhaps you'd like sake?"

Alvito drew the pistol from his belt and handed it to Blackthorne. "I assume I will not need this here?" he asked, lightly.

"I hope not." Stepping to one side, Blackthorne set the pistol on the floor in the alcove in front of the carved stand on which he kept his swords. He removed both swords from his obi and placed them correctly on their stand, with a small bow to the souls of the ancestors who inhabited them.

"I own a pistol," Alvito said, seating himself in the approved Japanese fashion. "It seems incredible."

Blackthorne poured sake quite formally, and handed it to his guest with a bow. "Rodrigues said, 'From one Portuguese soldier of fortune to another'," he told him, with a smile.

"Is that what I am? A soldier of fortune?"

"I don't know. I don't think I am the best person to ask."

"Perhaps not. Kampai," he added, drinking. "Good health, my friend."

Blackthorne returned the toast. "You are samurai and hatamoto," he observed, returning to their earlier discussion. "A member of Toranaga's own family, no less. Those swords are yours; you'll wear them tomorrow, even if you don't know how to use them."

"I've heard that samurai who have no skill with weapons are sometimes given wooden swords," Alvito smiled. "So that they can be of no harm either to themselves or to anyone else. Perhaps it would have been safer in my case."

Incensed, Blackthorne almost choked. "Never!" he said. "Think of the disgrace!"

Amused, Alvito watched as he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his kimono. "Yes," he said at length. "I must get used to thinking like a Japanese, now that I have become one. It appears that I have a new name," he added, as though it was of little consequence. "Did you notice that Toranaga addressed me as Anjin-no Tsukku - Pilot's Interpreter? Well, I have been Martin Alvito for twenty-seven years and 'Father Alvito' for almost fifteen; a new name will not be easy to accept, but I must say that I like it. Before I met Father dell'Aqua," he added, answering an unspoken question, "my name was Joao. 'John'."

"The same as mine?"

"Yes. But Anjin-no Tsukku is better, don't you think?"

"Yes."

"I truly believed," Alvito went on, "that the paper was a forgery. That Toranaga would adopt me into his family - I thought it a convenient fiction. Was it his idea, or yours?"

Blackthorne laughed sharply. "Neither. It wouldn't have occurred to me, and Toranaga was waiting for someone else to suggest a solution. It was your friend Michael who thought of it and gave the idea to Omi. He only asked that you be made samurai and hatamoto and the patent be dated back to before the hunting trip; adopting you was Toranaga's improvement on the scheme. Now that he has done so, the Jesuits would be very unwise to try and harm you."

"They will not try." The certainty was so firm that it stunned Blackthorne, and he made as if to protest. "No," Alvito continued quickly. "The Bishop is a harsh man, but he has no stomach for a long-drawn-out revenge. I could see it in his eyes when he had me brought from my prison - and before that, when he sentenced me to die. He had been forced into a situation not of his own choosing; it was Gregory who manouevred him into it. A man who has only just come to Japan is easy prey for one more versed in the customs of the place. I left the mission at the wrong time, and Gregory made his move. His motives were only too clear; he was always jealous of my intimacy with Father dell'Aqua, and he wanted the same for himself with Mendoza."

"Intimacy?" The word had more than one meaning. Blackthorne sought clarification.

"To work with him closely. To be a friend as well as a subordinate, as I was with the Father Visitor."

"And it was worth your life?"

"Not at first, perhaps. I think he sought only my disgrace, but my death would have served his purpose just as well. The situation was beyond his control, however. And now, he is dead and I am alive."

"He made threats against Michael," Blackthorne supplied. "You were safe, but he was not. Rodrigues had no choice."

"Then Rodrigues killed him, not the bodyguard? That was what you meant about taking away his face? That I would see in his eyes that he had killed a priest? Was he truly afraid I would censure him for it? I should have thanked him warmly, for Michael's sake."

"Then you can do so in Canton, at the Silk Fair, two years hence," Blackthorne promised rashly. "He will be thoroughly European again by then, and we'll disgust him with our Japanese ways." His smile fading, he regarded Alvito with a long, appraising glance as though assessing the effect his travails had had upon the man. "You astonish me," he said, mildly.

"Oh? Why?"

"Everything is different," Blackthorne told him. "You've walked to the edge of Hell and turned back; you've seen everything in your life fall to pieces around you; you've admitted to feelings that frighten you - but still you're calm. You're like an ocean, endless and deep and never quite tamed."

Alvito's eyes on him were like living coals. "It's generous of you to say so," he responded, with an almost distant politeness. "But I take no credit for myself. God made me, Pilot, and He is still directing my life. If I can serve Him better outside the walls of His Church, then I will do so happily."

Blackthorne felt himself beginning to relax. "Aye, so be it," he said, cheerfully. "And did He make this love between us that causes so much anguish?"

"You know He did."

"That was not what the Bishop thought. Was he wrong, then?"

Taking a deep, deep breath, Alvito answered slowly. "The Bishop is a man, Pilot. Men make mistakes. God does not."

A long sigh of relief escaped Blackthorne. "Then you agree?" he said, softly. "One day you will pillow with me?"

Alvito set down the sake cup and regarded him with a look that saw and understood every nerve and sinew, every thought and impulse. Blackthorne shuddered under the silent assault, afraid that he had upset the delicate balance of things by an untimely or ill-chosen word.

"Anjin-san," Alvito said, thoughtfully, "I have given up everything in my life, including my hope of Heaven, out of desire for you. Life, and honour, and much more. Knowing that, and knowing that now there is no hope of escape for either of us - I think it should be tonight. Don't you?"

"Tonight?" Was the man insane after all? Could he really imagine that Blackthorne would insist on having him so soon after the rescue, when he was still - damn his eyes - dressed as the priest he had once been? Did he believe Blackthorne had no soul, no compassion, merely his all-compelling lust? The Englishman was appalled at the misjudgement.

"You will have to guide me, of course," Alvito went on, calmly. "My past experience will be of little use to me with a lover. I have assumed," he added, as though the thought had only just come to him, "that you do not enjoy inflicting pain?"

"How could you ask it?" Wounded, Blackthorne spoke through gritted teeth.

"Then what is the difficulty?"

"There's no difficulty, priest." Glaring across the intervening distance, Blackthorne was unaware he'd used the outworn title and Alvito did not correct him on it. "Aren't you afraid?"

"Of course. Are you?"

A shattering thought broke over Blackthorne, an unacknowledged guilt. "Yes," he said. "But ... there was a boy."

"What boy?"

"Toranaga's boy. One of the kosho," he explained, scarcely more comprehensibly. "I'd almost forgotten; it was a foolish thing to do, but....." The mere thought of it sullied his conscience; it had been a demeaning experience.

"Anjin-sama," Alvito said softly, "please, calm yourself. Is something troubling you?" His words held the world-weary tolerance of the confessor.

Blackthorne's penitent soul unburdened itself without hesitation. "Yes. The night after you left the hunting-camp Toranaga offered me one of his pages, and I accepted. Was that wrong of me?"

"I don't know. How can I say?"

"How can you say?" Blackthorne repeated, distractedly. "I thought you were gone from my life for good, but I'd held you in my arms and I knew how much I still wanted you. I'd never had a man or a boy, but I thought ... I thought I could pretend it was you."

Alvito's expression was unreadable. "And could you?"

"No. He was far too experienced, although he understood what I wanted. He taught me how it's done. How it's done between lovers, I mean," he added, aware that Alvito's past included a bitter catalogue of assaults by a man who had shown him no gentleness. The boy had been far too knowing. Presumably briefed by Toranaga he had arrived wearing a simple black kimono and an expression of calm confidence, not lacquered and painted and dressed in expensive silks as he had been earlier on the journey. Blackthorne, half-wild with grief and frustrated desire, had been in no condition to refuse him. He'd demanded to be taught the ways of love between men, and the boy had complied. He'd known everything - tricks that in the West only whores used, secret touches that were unquestionably Japanese. He'd given Blackthorne a flask of oil, called choji, to ease penetration. Blackthorne remembered pouring oil into the boy and visualising Alvito's body beneath his hands; when he'd had the boy he'd been able to forget, for a while, that he was not Alvito - but the illusion had faded rapidly as soon as he had relieved his urgent passion. He shivered in horror of the memory.

Alvito was watching his face uncritically. "Does it trouble you?"

"Yes. You should have been the first."

"You didn't love him."

"No. Certainly not!"

"Then I am the first," Alvito told him, with devastating logic.

"How can you be so calm?"

"How? Because I love you, Pilot. Anata ga dai-suki desu, Anjin-sama. From the moment I saw you here three years ago, through everything that has happened since."

"Since then?"

"Without question." The supreme confidence was disquieting in a way fear could never be.

Blackthorne crossed the small space of floor between them and caught Alvito by the shoulders, not daring a more intimate touch until he was certain, quite, quite certain that the man would welcome it. "And I have loved you since that time also - and through everything that has happened," he said, with an intensity that could almost have been frightening, his hands gripping so tightly that wings of black silk bunched between his fingers.

A shaking hand lifted and came to rest on the front of Blackthorne's kimono, and for a moment Alvito seemed to be struggling with thoughts that could not be expressed in words. "Then at least we are equal," he said, weakly. A last moment of indecision, uncertainty poised like a butterfly on a flower, and then Blackthorne took the choice away from him by covering his mouth with his own and kissing him with complete concentration. Alvito hardly even seemed surprised, letting Blackthorne part his lips and deepen the kiss, accepting it totally and, in his own hesitant way, beginning to respond. It ended in a gasp for breath, Blackthorne's lips coming to rest on his forehead.

"Christ's blood," the pilot said, "I want you. I never wanted anyone or anything so much. But you must believe I will never do anything against your will," he added, kissing him again, a dark passion for the man rising in him by the moment. He tasted Alvito's mouth avidly, letting his tongue dwell in its depths, drinking him like a man dying of thirst. When he released him, it was only to moan softly and incoherently before possessing his mouth yet again. Alvito's arms snaked around his neck, drawing him closer, and Blackthorne's hands slid around his lover's waist. Dear God, he's as slender as Mariko! he thought, bemusedly, bewildered by the nearness of Alvito and the heat of his own lust. I could break him in half with a touch. I never dreamed a man could be so elegant, so graceful, so ... tender ... His kisses trailed over Alvito's face, brushing at eyelids and cheeks and temples. "You're shaking," he noticed belatedly.

"We are both shaking," was the amiable, if breathless, correction.

Blackthorne's hands went to the front of Alvito's cassock, to the uppermost of the long line of buttons that ran down it from neck to hem. Seeking and receiving permission with his eyes, he unfastened the first button and opened the collar, baring a triangle of golden-brown skin and bending his head to place on it a kiss that was more than a kiss. Alvito's head tilted back, exposing his neck to Blackthorne's lips, feeling the way the pulse in his throat jumped as Blackthorne's mouth descended on it with something between a kiss and a bite.

"Oh!" His gasp was little more than an exhalation of air.

"Does that please you?" his lover asked.

"Yes."

Smiling, Blackthorne unfastened the second button and the third, drawing the opening of the cassock apart to cover the pale skin beneath with similar tearing kisses. Under his mouth he could feel the unevenness of skin where the whip-scars were still healing; scars Alvito had incurred trying to prevent this moment of willing surrender. Alvito's hands were tangling in his hair now, holding his head in place against the overheated chest. He broke the grip, seized the man's mouth yet again and plundered it without mercy as his urgent hands worked on the next button and the next.

The tangled morning fought its way slowly through Blackthorne's consciousness many hours later. Waking seemed so laborious, more effort than his strength would permit, and the one experimental opening of his eyes brought him only dim perceptions of the shadowed room. He decided to remain as he was, stretched out naked, eyes closed, half-covered by a futon that had slid to the left during the night. Whatever the hour, it was too early to leave the comfort of this bed - too early to bring an end to the night they had shared. He and Alvito - he and Anjin-no Tsukku, the newly created samurai - had spent the night in cautious exploration of one another. It hardly counted as pillowing, he told himself, for although they had both been willing the debilitating after-effects of Martin's captivity had caught up with them long before it could be consummated. The flask of choji, placed for them by some optimist when the room was being prepared, had gone unused; Blackthorne had found himself unable to force his lust on someone so obviously exhausted and in need of comfort rather than carnality. Once he'd managed to calm his own rebellious manhood he had discovered that the stresses of the past few days had taken their toll on him, too, and he recollected the times he had gone to tea houses not to couple with a courtesan but to listen to music, to make civilised conversation, and to fall asleep in scented darkness with an amiable companion. Sometimes that was all the soul needed - the warmth of closeness, not the heat of passion. So they had slept together, naked beneath the futons, in a half-world between arousal and exhaustion, and if in the night Martin had jolted awake suddenly as in nightmares the prison darkness closed around him again, Blackthorne had been there to soothe him with a word or a touch; and if the aching loneliness had returned to Blackthorne's heart even for a moment, he had been able to place a hand on one warm, scarred shoulder and know that the loneliness was finally ended. In a way it had been better than pillowing. It had banished forever any last traces of suspicion that their union was built on the sandy foundations of desire. Whatever the Japanese may choose to believe about their uncontrollable barbarian lust for one another, long before morning both men were well aware that what they had built had foundations as strong as Osaka Castle itself and would endure as long.

The sounds of movement outside in the corridor did not surprise him. Although most of the Castle had been up half the night inspecting the strange creatures in their midst the day's routine would have started before dawn as usual and by now - at whatever hour this was - would be in full swing. It would not be long before they were disturbed by some well-meaning soul desperate to learn how the foreign samurai had passed the night. Accepting the inevitable he extracted himself carefully from beneath the futon, easing away from the warmth of Martin's body where he lay face down at Blackthorne's side. Hauling himself upright on unsteady legs, he took a clean loincloth from the pile of neatly-folded clothing placed for them by the entrance and fastened it around himself, covering it with a russet-coloured kimono and a gold obi. Making some attempt to brush his hair he wondered, as he often did, whether he could try wearing it in one of the formal Japanese styles that Omi or Naga favoured, or whether it would simply look ridiculous. At least now, in Martin, he had someone who would give him an honest answer to questions like that.

"Anjin-san?" A soft voice calling from outside the shoji alerted him to the presence in the corridor of Kasigi Omi.

"Yes, Omi-san, I'm awake," he called back. "Wait, please, I'll come out to you." A quick glance towards his still-sleeping companion, and then Blackthorne slid back the shoji and stepped into the passage. "Ohayo gozaimasu," he said, with a smile and a half-bow. "What hour is it, Omi-san?"

"Ohayo gozaimasu," was the amused reply. Omi had apparently replaced the two night guards with two of his own men, who sat cross-legged and impassive on either side of the doorway. "It's the Hour of the Horse, Anjin-san; midday. You have slept many hours. How is Tsukku-san this morning?"

"Mada nette imasu. Still asleep."

"But it is a good sleep, Anjin-san, neh?"

"Hai, Omi-san, it's a very good sleep. Thank you for replacing the guard with your own men."

"Do itamashite. Anjin, I have instructions for you from Toranaga-sama. He has left the Castle this morning to resume his hunting trip, and taken Buntaro with him." Omi smiled wickedly. "He has given Buntaro that boy he lost his heart to," he added. "I think as a reward for the help he gave you and Tsukku-san."

"That's generous," Blackthorne observed. "And Buntaro was very happy with his reward, neh?"

"Yes indeed. As happy as I was when you gave me Kiku-san's contract."

Blackthorne grinned. "Then we are all fortunate men," he said. "We all now have what we want. Many men are not as lucky as we. You mentioned instructions?"

Recalled to business, Omi made haste to relay Toranaga's orders. "Lord Toranaga says that having saved Tsukku-san's life and arranged his release from the Christian daimyo's prison, he is entitled to claim some service from him. Therefore he has decided that for half a year Tsukku-san will be employed in the capacity of secretary, for translating documents and dealing with foreigners. Naturally this will require him to be wherever Lord Toranaga himself is, and therefore he is instructed to return to the hunting-camp tomorrow."

"I will tell him when he wakes," Blackthorne promised solemnly.

"That's good, Anjin-san. And I'm to accompany him and to begin instructing him in swordsmanship as soon as time permits."

Smiling, Blackthorne bowed. "He could not wish for a better tutor, Omi-san my friend."

"Thank you, Anjin-san. He says, too, that having instructed you to give Tsukku-san your sword 'Oil-seller' he is making you a gift of another pair of swords. The blade is called 'Barbarian', but it is a very old sword and he assures you it has never been used to kill Europeans."

"I'm honoured, Omi-san. I'll prepare a proper letter of thanks for you to take to him."

"That would be very suitable, Anjin. Further, Lord Toranaga orders you to return to Anjiro. He says that you have good carpenters there who have been working on your new ship, and he requires you to have them build a house for him. He has chosen the headland that overlooks the bay; the one on which you and Tsukku-san were standing when I came to tell you that my disgraced uncle Yabu was going to commit suicide."

"A house?" echoed the Englishman, in some confusion. "I've never built a house, but I suppose it is not much different from building a ship. The carpenters at Anjiro know a great deal about building houses; I'm certain it can be done."

"That was what Lord Toranaga thought. He has given me some designs which I am to pass on to you before you leave. The house is to be his own property but he will require it for only one month of every year. For the rest of the time, he says, you and the Tsukku-san may live there as his tenants. It is not good to leave a house empty, Anjin-san; evil spirits can move in and do great harm."

"And when am I to leave, Omi-san?"

"Tomorrow, when Tsukku-san and I leave for the hunting-camp, you will go to Anjiro. Building the house will take you six months; when it is finished Tsukku-san will be discharged from his service with Lord Toranaga and you may live in the house together. You are not forbidden to see one another during the six months, but you will do so only when your duties permit. Lord Toranaga says," Omi added with a shrug, "that he has done you both a great service, and he requires the same of you in exchange. The building of this house has been on his mind for some time," he ended, smiling.

"And this is the repayment he spoke of," mused Blackthorne. "This is the judgement of Solomon."

"Solomon, Anjin-san?"

"A character in the Christian legends, Omi-san. He was renowned for great wisdom. Although I think," he added, noting the suspicious expression on Omi's face, "Lord Toranaga's wisdom is superior. Please tell Toranaga-sama I will obey his instructions to the best of my ability."

"So, Anjin-san, that will please him." Glancing past Blackthorne to the closed shoji, Omi raised both eyebrows in a knowing look. "I'll leave you now," he said. "No-one will disturb you. If you require anything, ask the guards. My greetings to Tsukku-san."

"Domo arigato, Omi-san." Blackthorne bowed, his respect and affection for Omi evident in the gesture. The best and closest of his Japanese friends, Omi had stood at his side through more crises than he could count and was still there even now the Empire was at peace and their own lives were at long last tranquil. It was good to know that men of different races could accept one another as equals, whatever the dissimilarities of their backgrounds. Omi, too, bowed, and then turned and walked away. Blackthorne returned his attention to the room beyond the shoji, and to Martin.

Martin Alvito, one the fiercest and most zealous Jesuit priests in all Japan, now lay beneath the futons in their shared chamber naked and waiting to be deflowered like a bride on her wedding night. The thought brought a welcome return of last night's lust, and he shuddered briefly as the powerful emotion rippled through him. I will have you, priest, or die in the attempt, he had promised himself - yet it was Martin who had come the closest to dying. One should never risk what one is not prepared to lose, he told himself, sharply. In risking Martin's life he had risked so much more; his own life, sanity and honour had hung by a thread in those agonising hours. Yet he had not lost. They had both won - new lives, and one another. In Japan, it seemed, even the impossible was possible if only one had the courage to reach for it. Smiling at the thought, he recalled the fantasy that had haunted him waking and sleeping since the night of the mud-slide. He had dreamed of the way Martin Alvito's dark eyes would open to him filled with lust, the way the once chaste and virginal priest would writhe beneath him and beg to be taken. Images flooded his mind, lustful portraits of Martin as wanton as any courtesan beneath the outward mask of propriety, daydreams of olive-skinned nakedness his for the taking. He had won his battle; now, at last, it was time to claim his prize. Blackthorne set a hand to the shoji, drew it aside, and with joy in his heart stepped into the room.

* * *

Yoshi Toranaga, Lord of the Kwanto and Regent of Japan, died less than two years after the events recorded here. In the same year also died Bishop Mendoza of Samar, racked by the illness that for many years had stolen his sleep. Earlier that year he had finally acceded to the last wish of Father dell'Aqua and had ordained Brother Michael into the priesthood.

During the years that followed, the Japanese attitude towards Christians became increasingly more severe. An edict of the Emperor directed that foreigners could only remain in Japan if they renounced the Christian faith. Those who failed to do so would be put to death. Many left Japan, but there were large numbers of Europeans who decided to stay on and pursue their faith in secret. Beginning in the year 1617 and continuing for the next quarter of a century Christians were sought out and dispatched ruthlessly; seventy Christians were crucified upside down at Yedo, being drowned as the tide came in. European Christians discovered were martyred by burning alive. Before the persecutions came to an end more than two thousand Christians had been executed, including over sixty Europeans.

It is not thought that Martin Alvito was among them.

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