Shōgun

“You’re wrong. As God is my judge, I believe it is. In a few weeks, at the most a few months, we’ll have an Archbishop of Japan at long last. A Spanish Bishop! The letters I have from Manila report the Royal Warrant’s expected by every mail.”

“Impossible! This is Portuguese territory and our province!”

“It was Portuguese. It was Jesuit. But that’s all changed now. With the help of our Brothers and Divine Guidance, the King of Spain has overthrown your General in Rome.”

“That’s nonsense. Lies and rumors. On your immortal soul, obey the commands of the Vicar of Christ.”

“I will. I will write to him today, I promise you. Meanwhile, expect a Spanish Bishop, a Spanish Viceroy, and a new Captain of the Black Ship—also a Spaniard! That’s also to be part of the Royal Warrant. We have friends in high places too and, at long last, they have vanquished the Jesuits, once and for all! Go with God, Eminence.” Friar Perez got up, opened the door, and went away.

In the outer office Soldi watched him leave, then hastily came back into the room. Frightened by dell’Aqua’s color, he hurried to the decanter and poured some brandy. “Eminence?”

Dell’Aqua shook his head and continued to stare sightlessly into the distance. For the past year there had been disquieting news from their delegates to the Court of Philip of Spain at Madrid about the growing influence of the enemies of the Society.

“It’s not true, Eminence. Spaniards can’t come here. It can’t be true.”

“It can be true, easily. Too easily.” Dell’Aqua touched the Papal Order. “This Pope may be dead, our General dead . . . even the King of Spain. Meanwhile . . .” He got to his feet and stood at his full height. “Meanwhile we’ll prepare for the worst and pray for help and do the best we can. Send Brother Michael to fetch Kiyama here at once.”

“Yes, Eminence. But Kiyama’s never been here before. Surely it’s unlikely he would come now?”

“Tell Michael to use any words necessary, but he’s to bring Kiyama here before sunset. Next, send the war news to Martin at once, to be passed to Toranaga at once. You write the details but I want to send a private cipher with it. Next, send someone to fetch Ferriera here.”

“Yes, Eminence. But about Kiyama, surely Michael won’t be able—”

“Tell Michael to order him here, in God’s name if necessary! We’re Soldiers of Christ, we’re going to war—to God’s war! Hurry up!”

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

“Anjin-san?”

Blackthorne heard his name in his dream. It came from very far away, echoing forever. “Hai?” he answered.

Then he heard the name repeated and a hand touched him, his eyes opened and focused in the half-light of dawn, his consciousness flooded back and he sat upright. The doctor was again kneeling beside his bed. Kiritsubo and the Lady Ochiba stood nearby, staring down at him. Grays were all around the large room. Oil lanterns flickered warmly.

The doctor spoke to him again. The ringing was still in his ears and the voice faint, but there was no mistake now. He could hear once more. Involuntarily his hands went to his ears and he pressed them to clear them. At once pain exploded in his head and set off sparks and colored lights and a violent throbbing.

“Sorry,” he muttered, waiting for the agony to lessen, willing it to lessen. “Sorry, ears hurt, neh? But I hear now—understand, Doctor-san? Hear now—little. Sorry, what say?” He watched the man’s lips to help himself hear.

“The Lady Ochiba and Kiritsubo-sama want to know how you are.”

“Ah!” Blackthorne looked at them. Now he noticed that they were formally dressed. Kiritsubo wore all white, except for a green head scarf. Ochiba’s kimono was dark green, without pattern or adornment, her long shawl white gossamer. “Better, thank you,” he said, his soul disquieted by the white. “Yes, better.” Then he saw the quality of the light outside and realized that it was near dawn and not twilight. “Doctor-san, please I sleep a day and night?”

“Yes, Anjin-san. A day and a night. Lie back, please.” The doctor took Blackthorne’s wrist with his long fingers and pressed them against the pulse, listening with his fingertips to the nine pulses, three on the surface, three in the middle, and three deep down, as Chinese medicine taught from time immemorial.

All in the room waited for the diagnosis. Then the doctor nodded, satisfied. “Everything seems good, Anjin-san. No bad hurt, understand? Much head pain, neh?” He turned and explained in more detail to the Lady Ochiba and Kiritsubo.

“Anjin-san,” Ochiba said. “Today Mariko-sama’s funeral. You understand ‘funeral’?”

“Yes, Lady.”

“Good. Her funeral’s just after dawn. It is your privilege to go if you wish. You understand?”

“Yes. Think so. Yes, please, I go also.”

“Very well.” Ochiba spoke to the doctor, telling him to look after his patient very carefully. Then, with a polite bow to Kiritsubo and a smile at Blackthorne, she left.

Kiri waited till she was gone. “All right, Anjin-san?”

“Head bad, Lady. So sorry.”

“Please excuse me, I wanted to say thank you. Do you understand?”