Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [392]
“It must be terrible to be born barbarian—terrible,” Buntaro said.
“Yes.”
His eyes dropped to the blade of her stiletto. “Some people think the Anjin-san was Japanese in a previous life. He’s not like other barbarians and he … he tries hard to speak and act like one of us though he fails, neh?”
“I wish you’d seen him almost commit seppuku Buntaro-san. I … it was extraordinary. I saw death visit him, to be turned away by Omi’s hand. If he was Japanese previously, I think that would explain many things. Lord Toranaga thinks he’s very valuable to us now.”
“It’s time you stopped training him and became Japanese again.”
“Sire?”
“I think Lord Toranaga’s under his spell. And you.”
“Please excuse me, but I don’t think I am.”
“That other night in Anjiro, the one that went bad, on that night I felt you were with him, against me. Of course it was an evil thought, but I felt it.”
Her gaze left the blade. She looked at him steadily and did not reply. Another lamp spluttered briefly and went out. Now only one light remained in the room.
“Yes, I hated him that night,” Buntaro continued in the same calm voice, “and wanted him dead—and you and Fujiko-san. My bow whispered to me, like it does sometimes, asking for a killing. And when, the next dawn, I saw him coming down the hill with those cowardly little pistols in his hands, my arrows begged to drink his blood. But I put his killing off and humbled myself, hating my bad manners more than him, shamed by my bad manners and the saké.” His tiredness showed now. “So many shames to bear, you and I. Neh?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t want me to kill him?”
“You must do what you know to be your duty,” she said. “As I will always do mine.”
“We stay at the inn tonight,” he said.
“Yes.”
And then, because she had been a perfect guest and the cha-no-yu the best he had ever achieved, he changed his mind and gave her back time and peace in equal measure that he had received from her. “Go to the inn. Sleep,” he said. His hand picked up the stiletto and offered it. “When the maples are bare of leaves—or when you return from Osaka—we will begin again. As husband and wife.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Do you agree freely, Mariko-san?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Before your God?”
“Yes. Before God.”
Mariko bowed and accepted the knife, replaced it in its hiding place, bowed again and left.
Her footsteps died away. Buntaro looked down at the branchlet still in his fist, the tear still trapped in a tiny leaf. His fingers trembled as they gently laid the sprig on the last of the coals. The pure green leaves began to twist and char. The tear vanished with a hiss.
Then, in silence, he began to weep with rage, suddenly sure in his innermost being that she had betrayed him with the Anjin-san.
Blackthorne saw her come out of the garden and walk across the well-lit courtyard. He caught his breath at the whiteness of her beauty. Dawn was creeping into the eastern sky.
“Hello, Mariko-san.”
“Oh—hello, Anjin-san! You—so sorry, you startled me—I didn’t see you there. You’re up late.”
“No. Gomen nasai, I’m on time.” He smiled and motioned to the morning that was not far off. “It’s a habit I picked up at sea, to wake just before dawn, in good time to go aloft to get ready to shoot the sun.” His smile deepened. “It’s you who’re up late!”
“I didn’t realize that it was … that night was gone.” Samurai were posted at the gates and all doorways, watching curiously, Naga among them. Her voice became almost imperceptible as she switched to Latin. “Guard thine eyes, I beg thee. Even the darkness of night contains harbingers of doom.”
“I beg forgiveness.”
They glanced away as horses clattered up to the main gate. Falconers and the hunting party and guards. Dispiritedly Toranaga came from within.
“Everything’s ready, Sire,” Naga said. “May I come with you?”
“No, no, thank you. You get some rest. Mariko-san, how was the cha-no-yu?”
“Most beautiful, Sire. Most very beautiful.”
“Buntaro-san’s a master. You’re fortunate.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Anjin-san! Would you like to go hunting? I’d like