Shōgun

Sono the maid had her head bent close to the litter curtains. She listened, and came back to Mariko.

“So sorry, Mariko-sama, but my Mistress asks if the madman is well enough to continue? She asks if you would give him your litter because my Mistress feels we should hurry for the tide. All the trouble that the madman has caused has made her even more upset. But, knowing that the mad are only afflicted by the gods, she will say prayers for his return to health, and will personally give him medicines to cure him once we are aboard.”

Mariko translated.

“Yes. I’m all right now.” Blackthorne got up and swayed on his feet.

Yabu barked a command.

“Yabu-san says you will ride in the litter, Anjin-san.” Mariko smiled when he began to protest. “I’m really very strong and you needn’t worry, I’ll walk beside you so you can talk if you wish.”

He allowed himself to be helped into the litter. At once they started again. The rolling gait was soothing and he lay back depleted. He waited until the captain of the Grays had strode away to the head of the column, then whispered in Latin, warning her, “That centurion understandeth the other tongue.”

“Aye. And I believe some Latin also,” she whispered back as quietly. She walked for a moment. “In seriousness, thou art a brave man. I thank thee for saving him.”

“Thou hadst stronger bravery.”

“No, the Lord God hath placed my feet onto the path, and rendered me a little useful. Again I thank thee.”

The city by night was a fairyland. The rich houses had many colored lanterns, oil-lit and candle-lit, hanging over their gateways and in their gardens, the shoji screens giving off a delightful translucence. Even the poor houses were mellowed by the shojis. Lanterns lit the way of pedestrians and kagas, and of samurai, who rode horseback.

“We burn oil for lamps in the houses as well as candles, but with the coming of night, most people go to bed,” Mariko explained as they continued through the city streets, winding and curling, the pedestrians bowing and the very poor on their knees until they had passed, the sea glittering in the moonlight.

“It’s the same with us. How do you cook? Over a wood stove?” Blackthorne’s strength had returned quickly and his legs no longer felt like jelly. She had refused to take the litter back, so he lay there, enjoying the air and the conversation.

“We use a charcoal brazier. We don’t eat foods like you do, so our cooking is more simple. Just rice and a little fish, raw mostly, or cooked over charcoal with a sharp sauce and pickled vegetables, a little soup perhaps. No meat—never meat. We’re a frugal people—we have to be, only so little of our land, perhaps a fifth of our soil, can be cultivated—and we’re many. With us it’s a virtue to be frugal, even in the amount of food we eat.”

“Thou art brave. I thank thee. The arrows flew not, because of the shield of thy back.”

“No, Captain of Ships. It cometh from the will of God.”

“Thou art brave and thou art beautiful.”

She walked in silence for a moment. No one has ever called me beautiful before—no one, she thought. “I am not brave and I am not beautiful. Swords are beautiful. Honor is beautiful.”

“Courage is beautiful and thou hast it in abundance.”

Mariko did not answer. She was remembering this morning and all the evil words and evil thoughts. How can a man be so brave and so stupid, so gentle and so cruel, so warming and so detestable—all at the same time? The Anjin-san was limitlessly brave to take Ishido’s attention off the litter, and completely clever to feign madness and so lead Toranaga out of the trap. How wise of Toranaga to escape this way! But be cautious, Mariko, she warned herself. Think about Toranaga and not about this stranger. Remember his evil and stop the moist warmth in your loins that you have never had before, the warmth courtesans talk about and storybooks and pillowbooks describe.

“Aye,” she said. “Courage is beautiful and thou hast it in abundance.” Then she turned to Portuguese once more. “Latin is such a tiring language.”

“You learned it in school?”

“No, Anjin-san, it was later. After I was married I lived in the far north for quite a long time. I was alone, except for servants and villagers, and the only books I had were Portuguese and Latin—some grammars and religious books, and a Bible. Learning the languages passed the time very well, and occupied my mind. I was very fortunate.”

“Where was your husband?”

“At war.”

“How long were you alone?”

“We have a saying that time has no single measure, that time can be like frost or lightning or a tear or siege or storm or sunset, or even like a rock.”

“That’s a wise saying,” he told her. Then added, “Your Portuguese is very good, senhora. And your Latin. Better than mine.”

“You have a honeyed tongue, Anjin-san!”

“It’s honto!”