"Don't be stupid, Tamazaki! You risk the good name of the village, neh?" he had warned his friend the fisherman a dozen times. "Stop your intolerance. Omi-san has no option but to sneer at Christians. Doesn't our daimyo detest Christians? What else can Omi-san do?"
"Nothing, I agree, Mura-san, please excuse me." Tamazaki had always replied as formally. "But Buddhists should have more tolerance, neh? Aren't they both Zen Buddhists?" Zen Buddhism was self-disciplining; it relied heavily on self-help and meditation to find Enlightenment. Most samurai belonged to the Zen Buddhist sect, since it suited, seemed almost to be designed for, a proud, death-seeking warrior.
"Yes, Buddhism teaches tolerance. But how many times must you be reminded they're samurai, and this is Izu and not Kyushu, and even if it were Kyushu, you're still the one that's wrong. Always. Neh?"
"Yes. Please excuse me, I know I'm wrong. But sometimes I feel I cannot live with my inner shame when Omi-san is so insulting about the True Faith."
And now, Tamazaki, you are dead of your own choosing because you insulted Omi-san by not bowing simply because he said, ". . . this smelly priest of the foreign religion." Even though the priest does smell and the True Faith is foreign. My poor friend. That truth will not feed your family now or remove the stain from my village.
Oh, Madonna, bless my old friend and give him the joy of thy Heaven.
Expect a lot of trouble from Omi-san, Mura told himself. And if that isn't bad enough, now our daimyo is coming.
A pervading anxiety always filled him whenever he thought of his feudal lord, Kasigi Yabu, daimyo of Izu, Omi's uncle the man's cruelty and lack of honor, the way he cheated all the villages of their rightful share of their catch and their crops, and the grinding weight of his rule. When war comes, Mura asked himself, which side will Yabu declare for, Lord Ishido or Lord Toranaga? We're trapped between the giants and in pawn to both.
Northwards, Toranaga, the greatest general alive, Lord of the Kwanto, the Eight Provinces, the most important daimyo in the land, Chief General of the Armies of the East; to the west the domains of Ishido, Lord of Osaka Castle, conqueror of Korea, Protector of the Heir, Chief General of the Armies of the West. And to the north, the Tokaido, the Great Coastal Road that links Yedo, Toranaga's capital city, to Osaka, Ishido's capital city three hundred miles westward over which their legions must march.
Who will win the war?
Neither.
Because their war will envelop the empire again, alliances will fall apart, provinces will fight provinces until it is village against village as it ever was. Except for the last ten years. For the last ten years, incredibly, there had been a warlessness called peace throughout the empire, for the first time in history.
I was beginning to like peace, Mura thought.
But the man who made the peace is dead. The peasant soldier who became a samurai and then a general and then the greatest general and finally the Taiko, the absolute Lord Protector of Japan, is dead a year and his seven-year-old son is far too young to inherit supreme power. So the boy, like us, is in pawn. Between the giants. And war inevitable. Now not even the Taiko himself can protect his beloved son, his dynasty, his inheritance, or his empire.
Perhaps this is as it should be. The Taiko subdued the land, made the peace, forced all the daimyos in the land to grovel like peasants before him, rearranged fiefs to suit his whim - promoting some, deposing others - and then he died. He was a giant among pygmies. But perhaps it's right that all his work and greatness should die with him. Isn't man but a blossom taken by the wind, and only the mountains and the sea and the stars and this Land of the Gods real and everlasting?
We're all trapped and that is a fact; war will come soon and that is a fact; Yabu alone will decide which side we are on and that is a fact; the village will always be a village because the paddy fields are rich and the sea abundant and that is a last fact.
Mura brought his mind back firmly to the barbarian pirate in front of him. You're a devil sent to plague us, he thought, and you've caused us nothing but trouble since you arrived. Why couldn't you have picked another village?
"Captain-san want onna?" he asked helpfully. At his suggestion the village council made physical arrangements for the other barbarians, both as a politeness and as a simple means of keeping them occupied until the authorities came. That the village was entertained by the subsequent stories of the liaisons more than compensated for the money which had had to be invested.
"Onna?" he repeated, naturally presuming that as the pirate was on his feet, he would be equally content to be on his belly, his Heavenly Spear warmly encased before sleeping, and anyway, all the preparations had been made.
"No!" Blackthorne wanted only to sleep. But because he knew that he needed this man on his side he forced a smile, indicated the crucifix. "You're a Christian?"
Mura nodded. "Christian."
"I'm Christian."
"Father say not. Not Christian."
"I'm a Christian. Not a Catholic. But I'm still Christian."
But Mura could not understand. Neither was there any way Blackthorne could explain, however much he tried.
"Want onna?"
"The-the dimyo-when come?"
"Dimyo? No understand."
"Dimyo-ah, I mean daimyo."
"Ah, daimyo. Hai. Daimyo!" Mura shrugged. "Daimyo come when come. Sleep. First clean. Please."
"What?"
"Clean. Bath, please."
"I don't understand."
Mura came closer and crinkled his nose distastefully.
"Stinku. Bad. Like all Portugeezu. Bath. This clean house."
"I'll bathe when I want and I don't stink!" Blackthorne fumed. "Everyone knows baths are dangerous. You want me to catch the flux? You think I'm God-cursed stupid? You get the hell out of here and let me sleep!"
"Bath!" Mura ordered, shocked at the barbarian's open anger - the height of bad manners. And it was not just that the barbarian stank, as indeed he did, but he had not bathed correctly for three days to his knowledge, and the courtesan quite rightly would refuse to pillow with him, however much the fee. These awful foreigners, he thought. Astonishing! How astoundingly filthy their habits are! Never mind. I'm responsible for you. You will be taught manners. You will bathe like a human being, and Mother will know that which she wants to know. "Bath!"
"Now get out before I snap you into pieces!" Blackthorne glowered at him, motioning him away.
There was a moment's pause and the other three Japanese appeared along with three of the women. Mura explained curtly what was the matter, then said with finality to Blackthorne, "Bath. Please."
"Out!"
Mura came forward alone into the room. Blackthorne shoved out his arm, not wanting to hurt the man, just to push him away. Suddenly Blackthorne let out a bellow of pain. Somehow Mura had chopped his elbow with the side of his hand and now Blackthorne's arm hung down, momentarily paralyzed. Enraged, he charged. But the room spun and he was flat on his face and there was another stabbing, paralyzing pain in his back and he could not move. ''By God... " He tried to get up but his legs buckled under him. Then Mura calmly put out his small but iron-hard finger and touched a nerve center in Blackthorne's neck. There was a blinding pain.
"Good sweet Jesus . . . "
"Bath? Please?"
"Yes-yes," Blackthorne gasped through his agony, astounded that he had been overcome so easily by such a tiny man and now lay helpless as any child, ready to have his throat cut.
Years ago Mura had learned the arts of judo and karate as well as how to fight with sword and spear. This was when he was a warrior and fought for Nakamura, the peasant general, the Taiko long before the Taiko had become the Taiko when peasants could be samurai and samurai could be peasants, or craftsmen or even lowly merchants, and warriors again. Strange, Mura thought absently, looking down at the fallen giant, that almost the first thing the Taiko did when he became all powerful was to order all peasants to cease being soldiers and at once give up all weapons. The Taiko had forbidden them weapons forever and set up the immutable caste system that now controlled all the lives in all the empire: samurai above all, below them the peasants, next craftsmen, then the merchants followed by actors, outcasts, and bandits, and finally at the bottom of the scale, the eta, the nonhumans, those who dealt with dead bodies, the curing of leather and handling of dead animals, who were also the public executioners, branders, and mutilators. Of course, any barbarian was beneath consideration in this scale.