This is the first chapter of a long story about the relationship between John Blackthorne (Richard Chamberlain) and Father Martin Alvito (Damien Thomas) from the TV series SHOGUN. (Alvito was almost entirely removed from the shortened theatrical version of the story.) Further chapters of this saga will be posted at regular intervals.

ONE

Kasigi Omi stopped the convoy at the junction of two paths and consulted briefly with the local man who had been paid to act as their guide. The footsoldiers halted in meticulous order, glancing around cautiously at the dripping trees and rock-strewn hillside but making no sound. Omi passed them without a look or a thought, passed the first four mounted samurai likewise, and reined in close to the two Europeans. "Anjin-san, Tsukku-san," he said, respectfully, "this man says the valley road can be dangerous in winter weather; there is a higher path, but we must dismount and lead our horses."

Tsukku-san - Father Martin Alvito of the Society of Jesus - shot a sideways look at his travelling companion to make sure the man had understood. In almost three years in Japan John Blackthorne had learned to communicate with some fluency in the complicated Japanese language, but there were still times when he failed to follow what was being said. Alvito, so well-versed in the language that he was capable of simultaneous translation and had long ago found himself thinking in Japanese rather than his native Portuguese, was prepared to translate if necessary.

"Domo, Omi-san," Blackthorne answered, smoothly. "Do omoimasu ka?"

Omi looked thoughtful. "I think he's a trustworthy man, Anjin-san," he said, "but I don't know this area well. I think we should follow his advice."

Blackthorne nodded. Once an enemy, Omi had later become a good friend who had sworn allegiance both to Yoshi Toranaga, the Shogun, and his trusted Admiral Anjin. Strictly speaking the barbarian pilot had usurped Omi's place in Toranaga's chain of command, but Omi bore no malice and had continued to do his duty faithfully. Omi was, perhaps, Blackthorne's closest Japanese friend and most trusted ally. The pilot showed his approval of the suggestion by dismounting, and Omi walked his horse back down the column giving the order to dismount to the rest of the cavalry.

The Jesuit priest, in his flame orange robes, hesitated only a moment before dismounting as easily as any of the other riders. He sat a horse better than most of his calling, and managed the inconvenient skirts of his cassock with becoming grace. He was thirty-seven years old, his black hair and beard shot through with streaks of premature silver-grey, and his manner in Blackthorne's presence was guarded and cautious. They disliked one another, but politely.

Blackthorne spared him only the briefest of scrutiny. Already on this journey the man had shown himself as well able to deal with the hardships of travel over rough terrain as any Toranaga samurai, a fact which had earned the Englishman's grudging respect. It could not, however, overcome his natural dislike both for the Portuguese and for Catholic priests - the first rooted in the arrogance with which Portuguese navigators had claimed so much of the world for their King, the second in the unthinking persecutions visited by so many on those who did not share their faith.

Before them on the road the footsoldiers reorganised themselves into two files as the old man, with Omi immediately behind him, set off on the narrow path that led away to the left. One by one the dismounted samurai guided their animals onto the track, and Blackthorne held back to let Alvito go first; he would rather have the man where he could see him. Behind them, with silent economy, the rest of the convoy sorted itself into its new travelling order. Blackthorne spared it one glance, saw that everything was under control, and led his horse behind Alvito up the slippery path.

It was fortunate that being in single file gave very few opportunities for conversation, as Blackthorne was rapidly running out of things to say to the priest. After commiserating with him on the recent death of the Father Visitor of his Order, Father dell'Aqua, and enquiring about the progress of the cathedral being built at Yedo he had found himself against a stone wall where every conversational initiative was met with polite dismissal. Since their first meeting they had been rivals, certainly, if not enemies, the priest seeing Blackthorne as a representative of those who sought to disrupt the Order's work in Japan and, more dangerously still, as one who meddled at the highest level of Japanese politics without any clear idea of the implications of what he was doing. Such distrust scarcely made for easy converse.

They had been on the upper path a little short of an hour, wending cautiously upwards over a track progressively becoming narrower and more slippery, when their way was blocked by a torrent of water flooding across the path. Omi and the old man led their horses through it, and the footsoldiers made gallant attempts to follow, but it was rapidly obvious that the torrent was gaining strength all the time and bringing down mud and stones and vegetation in astounding quantities. The ground seemed to shake, and Blackthorne turned back to comfort his startled horse with a reassuring hand on its nose. Behind him, even the well-trained Toranaga samurai who had gone through battle and terror with him appeared struck by an un-named fear as the elements themselves seemed to conspire against their convoy.

Then, quite suddenly, the first man was swept off the path, a footsoldier, some distance behind Blackthorne, his cry of amazement becoming lost in the branches of the trees through which he fell. He was gone, over the steepest part of the cliff's edge; anyone sent down to him could do little for him, if he had survived, but send him onward with all dispatch. There were immediately volunteers, and Blackthorne acknowledged the desire of two of the man's colleagues to follow him down to assist him in dying if they should be needed - but even as they began their cautious scrambling over rain-slicked rocks and tree roots another deluge of mud followed in the path of the first and both were swept down by it.

Turning back, he sought out Omi and the old man, cut off from the main body of the convoy by the first torrent that now swilled as wide as a river, wondering whether he could force his samurai through the water onto what seemed the comparative safety of Omi's refuge, but soon realised it would be impossible. Instead he gave the order for those at the rear of the column to retreat back down the path until they could find safety. The footsoldiers obeyed at once; the cavalrymen, struggling with disobedient and frightened horses, followed his orders as well as they could. He had done his best for them, and for a moment watched their retreat in deep concern before turning back to assess the possibility of his own escape.

The priest was praying, damn him, standing calmly awaiting Blackthorne's instructions and at the same time calling on his God to deliver him. Beneath the man's very feet the path was already beginning to crumble, washing away into the valley. Blackthorne's horse screamed out in terror and the sound was taken up by men and horses still on the path behind him and blended with the cacophony of the tearing earth and rushing water until it sounded as though the earth-kami itself was screaming at them for their insolence in traversing its secret paths. For a moment Blackthorne's eyes met those of the priest and became a party to their dark, calm certainty; caught between life and death, the two men measured one another's worth silently and Alvito's mouth curved into a serene smile - and then suddenly the path fell away completely from beneath him and the bright orange figure teetered on the edge of the precipice.

Without thinking Blackthorne lunged forward, his grip closing compulsively on the floundering figure, fingers first digging into the winged shoulders of the cassock as he hauled the semi-conscious man towards him. The cries of samurai and horses engulfed by the torrent assaulted his ears as the ground heaved and slithered in malicious contortions, taking away the footings of those who thought they were safe and throwing onto firm ground those who had looked death in the face. With Alvito bundled against him he fell backwards, down, branches of trees tearing at his clothing as the cliff opened up beneath them. He could feel the Jesuit's hands closing on his arms as shreds of consciousness returned, but the sky and the earth were alike black and he could see nothing but shards of lightning and the orange blur that was the priest. There was none of the clear, slow-thinking precision that had once enabled him to tear Toranaga from an earthquake's jaw; the mudslide was a confused malevolence sucking out thought and breath and daylight and giving him only one anchor - his enemy Alvito.

His face was full of mud and debris, eyes and mouth and nose blocked. If ever he could get breath again, he would vomit back the stinking refuse. His arm caught at something, hooked around it and tore muscles from wrist to shoulder, his cry of pain choking as the mud slammed his burden against him. Rain and leaves blew into his face, but at last the roaring of the earth subsided briefly and Blackthorne found breath enough to expel the filth from his throat, his burning arm still tangled around something that did not move. He hauled in a breath that was as much water as air, gripped with his undamaged arm the unmoving form of the priest, and turned his face upwards to cry out for assistance; another cascade of mud and debris flew from the cliff-face, landing around him, strangling the cry before it could be uttered and stealing the last of the daylight together with his senses. Under the pressure of the falling avalanche he dropped across Alvito's body and slid into the peace of unconsciousness.

He woke to a great calm penetrated only by the hushed, familiar tones of Omi nearby and sat up suddenly, his head ringing with a sharp pain that closed his eyes again as nausea washed through him.

"Omi-san?" he called out, struggling to rise. He was inside a small but beautifully decorated room which smelled clean and fresh and above all dry, the sound of the rain drumming on the roof above him echoing around like thunder. Looking down at himself, he just had time to notice that he wore a light, sand-coloured kimono that was certainly not his own, and that his left arm was swathed in aromatic bandages, before the shoji slid aside and Omi entered the room.

The samurai bowed. "Anjin-san, ikaga desu ka?"

"Thank you, Omi-san, I'm very well; my head hurts and my arm burns like fire but I'm alive, neh?"

"The gods are kind today, Anjin-san," Omi bowed, obeying Blackthorne's clumsy gesture and sitting down while the Englishman disentangled himself from the bedding and moved to sit opposite him. A tiny maid, no more than eleven or twelve years old, slipped into the room unobtrusively and began to tidy away his bedding. Knowing it would not be good manners to notice her, Blackthorne concentrated on Omi.

"Where are we, Omi-san? How many men have we lost?" For there was no doubting that several of the men swept over the cliff would have been killed.

"Nine, Anjin-san, and four horses. We are in the old man's village - this is the tea house, the finest accommodation they have. The village is also damaged by the storms, Anjin-san, and their hospitality is very limited; excuse me, but I have arranged for you and the Tsukku-san to share this room - it is the only room good enough to house you."

"The priest is alive?"

"Yes, Anjin-san, he is alive because of your bravery. If you had not thrown yourself across him he would have drowned in that torrent of filth. We pulled the two of you from the mud quite unconscious. Tsukku-san was not hurt; he had woken by the time we brought him to the village and he asked if he could bath. There is no doctor here but there's an old woman who treats illnesses and she says he only needs sleep and rest before continuing the journey. Your pardon, Anjin-san, but you could not be woken; I had the maids clean you and change your clothes - the smell of that mud was terrible, neh?"

Belatedly Blackthorne noticed that Omi was also in a fresh kimono.

"Thank you, Omi-san, but ... these clothes? Where did they come from?"

"They belonged to a samurai who died here several months ago, Anjin-san; the mama-san of the house kept them. It was theft, of course, but excuse me Anjin-san I do not think she should be punished for it since she gave them up when they were needed."

Blackthorne smiled. No matter how long he knew Omi he could not seem to find any limitations to the man's sense of honour; although strict in enforcing his rights, Omi was frequently generous to those of an inferior station in life. A village mama-san with only a small tea-house and two or three courtesans of low rank would always be short of money, and good quality kimonos were very valuable. It was not surprising that she had kept them.

"You're quite right, Omi-san, do shimasu. We stay here for the night, then, and proceed in the morning?"

"I think it would be best, Anjin-san, although I don't know whether we'll be able to proceed if the weather is still bad. The old man and I will go out and examine the road as soon as it's light. If you need me for anything, I and some of my samurai will be in the room next to yours. I've ordered a meal for you, Anjin-san, as soon as Tsukku-san returns from the bath house."

"Thank you, Omi-san, you think of everything."

"Nani mo." It's nothing.

Pleased to have been of service to his friend, Omi bowed again and excused himself to deal with the devastation and confusion in the village; despite his confident assurance he doubted he would get a great deal of sleep that night, but there was no reason to trouble either Anjin-san or Tsukku-san with his problems - Toranaga-sama had charged him to take the very best care of both of them, and to ensure they spent time in one another's company whenever possible, and he was taking his instructions very seriously indeed.

Some minutes later the shoji parted soundlessly and Blackthorne barely glanced around as the priest entered, followed by the tea house maid bringing a tray of food for them. As she moved about economically, reorganising things so that they could sit in comfort in the middle of the room, her feet whispering on the matted floor, Alvito crossed the room to where Blackthorne looked out across the sodden garden.

"Today is full of unexpected surprises, Anjin," he observed, quietly. "Not only do I find myself entertained in the pleasure room of an immoral house but I am also placed in the unique position of being grateful to you. Omi-san tells me I owe you my life," he added, the slightly mocking edge banished from his voice. "Arigato."

Blackthorne turned from his reverie and was about to speak when he realised with a start that Alvito had returned from the bath-house wearing a green and grey kimono with a design of stylised pine branches on it. Despite his beard and the European cast of his features he looked almost Japanese, comfortable in the clothes and the setting in a way Blackthorne could not have imagined and could only envy. Only the rosary worn at his waist served as a reminder of his true identity and calling. Bemused, Blackthorne responded with a truly Japanese gesture, a half bow and a muttered "nani mo."

Alvito smiled. "I don't know which of us is the host and which the guest," he said, indicating the tray of food where the maid had placed it. She knelt on the floor beside the shoji awaiting their further commands. "Nevertheless, we should eat it or someone will take offence."

"Willingly," was Blackthorne's too hearty response as he seated himself and inspected the food. Everything necessary had been provided, and with a sharp little nod he dismissed the maid. He was reaching for the food when he noticed the priest's lips moving in a silent grace, and waited until he had finished before commencing. The meal was a piquant fish delicacy and had a flavour he had actively disliked on first acquaintance but had gradually come to savour.

Blackthorne noted that without consultation or apparent decision they both ate in the Japanese manner, neatly and elegantly. He knew Alvito had been many years in Japan, and that he had no doubt absorbed the customs and manners of the people far better than he himself would ever succeed in doing, but he now became aware that he had always been guilty of seeing the priest merely as a cipher for his calling - the cassock, rather than the man within. In Japanese clothing, however, and freshly brushed and scented, Alvito was no longer a Portguese Catholic and thus Blackthorne's natural enemy but merely a traveller like himself who by some accident had come to Japan and learned its ways.

What a formidable enemy you have been, priest, he thought, watching the man eat. Strong and courageous and clever. And what a good friend you would have made; the kind of friend a man would give his life for.

The thought struck him abruptly that he had almost done just that, on this very day. Instinct had sent him after Alvito into the mudslide; instinct aided, perhaps, by the guiding hand of Mariko reaching down from Heaven. She had always wanted the two of them to be friends; had wanted them to see beyond the ciphers. Her wisdom was difficult to follow, sometimes.

But what are my weaknesses, priest? What secrets do you see that I don't?

The food finished, they reached at the same time for sake and both began to relax a little. Blackthorne, setting his hand upon the bottle first, poured for the priest.

"It seems you are the host and I am the guest," Alvito observed, idly.

"As you say," Blackthorne responded with a shrug, "this is a most unexpected day."

Alvito nodded, lifting the tiny sake cup to his lips. "It's an unexpected world, Pilot-major. Especially the corner of it you inhabit. When I first had word from Father Sebastio that your ship had foundered and you and your men were taken prisoner, I doubt if I imagined how ... resourceful you would prove to be. I congratulate you on your continued existence, Anjin-san; Lord Toranaga is wise to take you into his confidence."

The words, although expressed without malice, had a ring of treachery about them. Blackthorne stopped with the sake halfway to his mouth and regarded Alvito across the top of the cup, assessing him with eyes that expected to see nothing good. Instead he found himself noting the careful way the priest's wet hair had been brushed into shape, and the sharp, clean scent of the bath-house that rose from his skin and clothing.

"Lord Toranaga does me great honour," he said, mechanically, gulping back the sake to cover up his discomfiture.

"You're cautious," Alvito noted. "That's good. You have no reason to think well of me, Pilot, nor I of you - yet here we are, alike in so many ways. We are both survivors. Your samurai and my lay brothers die around us in unthinkable numbers, but we two survive. Today, I survived because of you; one day I shall hope to repay you."

"Giri, neh?" Momentarily distracted, Blackthorne was not aware he had replied in Japanese until Alvito echoed the word in his own language.

"Duty? I doubt if I have ever been a part of your duty, samurai. We are fire and water, natural enemies. Today you were merely an instrument in God's hands; He works in mysterious ways."

Disliking the dismissive tone of the priest's remarks, Blackthorne rose and called the maid to remove the dishes. "Your God must have a strange sense of humour, Jesuit," he said, sourly, "to send a flood to tear down a cliff face and bury nine men and four horses solely in order to put you in my debt. For myself I hold you discharged; I don't wish you beholden to me."

Alvito absorbed the criticism in good humour. "And yet we are here, Anjin, and for one night at least there is peace between us. Who is to say whether or not God's purpose is achieved only by that?"

"God's purpose does not trouble me," Blackthorne told him, sharply, aware that in the small and delicate setting of the pleasure room he had again become the heavy-footed barbarian ill-at-ease with his surroundings - surroundings into which, unaccountably, the Jesuit priest fitted like sword into scabbard. "Toranaga's purpose in ordering us both to Nagasaki at this time, however ... "

"He does not order me, Pilot; I'm not his retainer. He ordered you to Nagasaki and then offered you to me as escort, knowing I also wished to go. This is scarcely the season for making so long a journey, but there are forty converts in Nagasaki awaiting baptism; I would be failing in my duty if I didn't hasten to them at the first opportunity."

"And my errand could also have waited," Blackthorne explained, sitting down again and taking hold of the fresh bottle of sake the maid had brought. "Recruiting foreign crew for his navy is not a matter of urgency, but when I explained that he still insisted. I can only assume that he wants us away from Osaka for a time for some reason of his own."

"My own conclusion exactly," Alvito smiled, stretching out his legs and yawning. "A reason he has no doubt confided to Omi-san, which explains his choice of this curious route."

"He disposes of us the way your God does, priest, and God and Toranaga have much the same sense of humour; perhaps God is Japanese, after all."

Two or three years earlier such a comment would have drawn a stinging rebuke from Alvito. Now he laughed softly, scarcely disconcerted by such a mild piece of heresy. "It would explain much that I don't understand," he conceded, "and would mean that I could do His work just as well in a tea house as a cathedral."

The words pinned down for Blackthorne the feelings he had experienced on meeting Alvito at Osaka Castle, brought back to him the wave of bewilderment that had washed over him when he first saw the man - to be dispelled only moments later by the tender sensation of his first encounter with Mariko; since meeting her he had forgotten that initial surge of emotion towards the priest, but it returned to him now with all the force of the cliff avalanche.

"I never saw a man less fitted to be a priest!" he exclaimed, with the violence of a sudden revelation. "Whyever did you choose such a calling? You could have been ... "

The other man stopped him with a wave of the hand. "I would have been nothing," he said, calmly. "I was starving when Father dell'Aqua found me and took me into his care; priests do, at least, eat well."

"He found you?" Blackthorne poured more sake for them both, aware that the conversation was becoming more intimate than either of them had intended and determined always to be half a cup of sake behind the priest so that he could absorb and understand the other's words before the demon in the bottle drove the wits from them both.

Alvito sighed. Since the death of Father dell'Aqua some weeks previously he had experienced very few opportunities to think about the man who had not only been his spiritual mentor but in almost every other respect had replaced the father he had never known. It would be good to discuss him - and to do so in Portuguese, which this Englishman knew almost as well as Alvito himself.

"He found me," he conceded, "begging on the streets of Lisbon. I was ten years old. There and then he offered me a new life, and there and then I accepted. I never returned to my old home; I would hardly imagine my absence was noticed."

"But ... had you no family?" With a twinge of guilt Blackthorne realised he had not thought of his own family in months; his wife Felicity, his children ... he could barely recall their faces.

"My father bought my mother for the night," Alvito told him, without self-pity. "She was a waterside whore, fifteen years old when she bore me and died of it. I should have been smothered at birth, but instead I was allowed to live and set to begging as soon as I was old enough. Martin Alvito is not the name I was born with; it is the name of Father dell'Aqua's patron - I was renamed in his honour."

"And the Father Visitor brought you to Japan?"

"More than twenty years ago, after some time in Manila. I learned very quickly that I could absorb and understand other languages than my own; I even have a few words of English, although not as accomplished as your Portuguese."

"But you haven't said why ... why you became a priest?"

Alvito's dark eyes turned full on him, and Blackthorne shuddered. "Because Father dell'Aqua wished it," he said simply. "I owed him my life, Pilot. What more could I do?"

"And now you owe me your life."

"As you say. It is a circumstance that pleases neither of us, Anjin-san, but honour is honour." Alvito inspected the sake bottle with some care. "There is too much 'veritas' in this 'vino'," he declared, sagely. Raising his voice, he called out for the maid to return and prepare the room. "Your company is refreshing, Pilot-major," he observed, with some formality, "but I fear I must deny myself the pleasure of conversing with you any further. I think it is time we retired to sleep."

Blackthorne watched the shutters close across the other man's eyes and knew their meaning. Kinshi. It is forbidden to trespass further. Respecting Alvito's privacy, he allowed himself to be drawn into preparations for sleep.

The fullness of his bladder woke him some little time later, long after the priest was asleep. Reluctantly abandoning the comfort of his futons Blackthorne slipped out through the shoji and asked his samurai guard for directions to the privy; he could never get used to the Japanese habit of pissing wherever the fancy took them.

The night was still wild and the wind howled around the pines, but no further rain had fallen and shreds of silver moonlight escaped between the high dark clouds to show him the ruins of the trim little garden; he would remember to give the mama-san the money for its repair before he left, in recompense for the strange delight this tea house had given him.

When he returned to the pleasure room the moon had broken free of its bonds and was casting cold beams through the shoji, and Blackthorne slipped back into his place between the futons with some alacrity, letting their retained warmth seep back into his chilled body. Idly, he reflected that although this was not by a long way the first time he had been entertained in a tea house's pleasure room, it was the first time he had spent the night in one without taking advantage of the services offered. A night in a pleasure room with a Catholic priest - and a Jesuit at that - offered few attractions.

Not that he was entirely indifferent to Alvito, he realised as he listened to the pleasant, even sound of the man's breathing. It had felt right to share a meal and a room with him; it was difficult to remember a man was your enemy when you had slept so close to him and watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest so intently. He had watched Mariko sleep, often, and it had enchanted him to do so, knowing that she could never have drifted into such dreamless ease if she distrusted him. Did Alvito trust him in the same way? Had saving the man's life really broken down the barriers between them to the extent that Alvito could sleep beside him without a qualm? It seemed so.

Mariko and Alvito; they couldn't be less alike, and yet the emotion as he watched the priest sleep was shockingly familiar, the desire to be close to him springing from motives he recognised with a sick lurch of fear. How could they remain enemies when they needed one another so much? When he needed Alvito as he hadn't needed anyone since Mariko's death? The priest seemed so tranquil, so at peace with himself, long dark eyelashes and high cheekbones taking the moonlight and making him appear ten or fifteen years younger than his true age. Blackthorne could almost have gathered him in there and then, just for the pleasure of having those liquid dark eyes open onto him and scan his face ...

I want to touch you, priest, he thought, the heart sinking inside him. God forgive me, I want to tear your clothes away and lose myself in you. The sudden desire somehow did not surprise him; desire never did, however misdirected. What am I, a sodomite? Would that shock you? Aren't all God-cursed Catholic priests sodomites anyway? Maybe you'd welcome it. Maybe you'd give yourself to me. The notion made him so hot he could barely contain his urgency, and one hand slipped beneath the futon to fasten on himself. He was fully erect, achingly so, his fingers straying sensuously across his own flesh to soothe away the almost uncontrollable need.

And that's a sin, too, he told himself, ruefully. All pillowing is sinful, neh? That's what Mariko told me the priests believe. But this is Japan; here samurai pillows with samurai and nobody seems to care. Men with men. Not forbidden. Here in Japan I could have you, priest, if you were willing.

It had been a long time since he'd been tempted by another man's body - years ago, before he had married Felicity. He'd sworn never to give in to that temptation unless he trusted the man with his life and his honour and more besides, and he'd never met a man he trusted enough. The decision had cost him a great deal of travail, especially on long voyages far from land; on the outward journey to Japan, with so few landfalls and all of the women treacherous, Crooq and Pieterzoon had found one another and stayed faithful right up until Kasigi Yabu, Omi's uncle, had murdered Pieterzoon - since when the younger man had never mentioned his lover's name again.

We laughed at them, he recalled, but they were sincere. We were just afraid of that sincerity. It was their karma to be parted by Yabu's evil plans, just as it's my karma to want this man. A Jesuit father; a truly remarkable choice. He'd have me disembowelled in the market place at Yedo for only mentioning it, and nothing even Toranaga could do would save me. Ah, but if he wanted me ...

The mental picture of Alvito turning to him, his body anxious and receptive, his silken voice whispering passionately in scented darkness, ripped through Blackthorne like a taifun; in silent anguish he reached climax, flooding his stroking hand with his seed, listening in awe to the frantic beating of his own heart, filled with grief and something that was almost shame as the tension in his body subsided.

A Jesuit father, he thought again, settling himself more comfortably. Jesus, Mary and Joseph save me from giving my heart to a Jesuit father. But even as he thought it, some voice of reason inside his head was insisting it was already too late.

Entering Toranaga's private quarters with some trepidation, Omi made his deepest bow to the Shogun who sat on a small dais at the far end of the room. Four samurai guards were present, but Toranaga dismissed them as Omi came forward in obedience to his signal.

"Omi," he said, cheerfully, "please sit down here. I wish to talk with you most privately."

Omi bowed again, and somewhat diffidently seated himself as indicated. He was not, in all honesty, afraid of Toranaga, although since the War the man wielded almost unlimited power; he wielded it with justice, however, and there were few who had cause to fear him. Omi had great respect for the man who was his liege lord and, in his opinion, a good man. Toranaga had a reputation for great wisdom, and although sometimes his orders were incomprehensible it was generally the case that he had good reasons for issuing them.

"Anjin-san has given me his report about the trip to Nagasaki," Toranaga continued, thoughtfully. "You were present when he did so. Have you any information to add to what he told me?"

The question was somewhat bewildering to Omi. Blackthorne had given a concise account of his journey and his attempts to recruit crew, and had presented to Toranaga the six men he had succeeded in persuading to accompany him back to Osaka; they were a very mixed and unpromising-looking selection, but at least during the return trip - for which Toranaga had sent a galley - Blackthorne had persuaded them all of the necessity of washing frequently and learning a few words of Japanese.

"Excuse me, Sire," Omi said, allowing something of his confusion to show, "but I don't understand what it is you are asking. Everything that Anjin-san told you is the truth."

"Of course, of course." Toranaga paused, as though seeking appropriate phrases for what he had to say. Omi had never detected any uncertainty in him before, and even the vaguest hint of hesitancy was disturbing. "But Anjin-san passed very lightly over the incident of the mudslide and the rescue of Tsukku-san. Did you find that omission somewhat unusual?"

Omi considered his reply carefully. "Sire, it's not his way to mention his own bravery and..."

"And?"

"Pardon me, Sire, but it's my humble opinion that he surprised himself by what he did."

To Omi's great astonishment, Toranaga smiled broadly. "Ah so desu ka," he said, contentedly. "That's a hopeful omen, neh? Omi, these barbarians create quite a problem for me. I have to ensure that they both remain in Japan, and that they will both be safe after I have gone into the void. The Empire needs them both, and for as long as possible. It's a considerable difficulty, neh?"

"Yes, Sire." Deliberately Omi did not ask whether Toranaga had found a solution for the difficulty; he was wise enough to understand that the Shogun had something he wished to convey.

"Consider for a moment, Omi. Imagine that you have two samurai in your command who are very necessary to you separately and who together would be a formidable weapon indeed. Suppose that neither man is married, and that only one of them has been known to pillow with women. Do you draw any conclusions from this information?"

Omi's eyes suddenly became huge with comprehension. "If they were my samurai, Sire, I would try to arrange matters so that they pillowed together. But, Toranaga-sama, excuse me, isn't it against barbarian custom for men to pillow with men?"

"That's so."

"And barbarian priests ... don't pillow at all," he added, mystified.

"As you say, Omi, these are barbarian ways. But Anjin-san is samurai and hatamoto, and no-one who is not Japanese can be these things; it follows that the Anjin is Japanese."

The argument was pure brilliance. Omi followed it with increasing delight. The barbarian admiral and the barbarian priest - what a strange picture that would make!

"But, Sire - Tsukku-san is not samurai or hatamoto; he's a priest of their Christian faith. He had Urano-san shamed for merely visiting a tea house; he's a fanatic. He would never ... " Feeling he had said too much, Omi stopped abruptly.

Toranaga's pleased expression had vanished, leaving instead a stern countenance which only just succeeded in remaining tolerant.

"You understand my difficulty, Omi. Now, since we cannot change the man and we cannot force him to be what he is not, perhaps we should leave the decision to Tsukku-san himself? Bring him to a time and place where he can choose to pillow with Anjin-san if he wishes? Let nature take its course, neh?"

"A very wise plan, Sire, but forgive me - there is still something I don't understand."

Toranaga raised an eyebrow, and Omi swallowed nervously. "What is that, Omi?"

"Humbly, Sire, please may I ask - why do you believe that Anjin-san would wish to pillow with Tsukku-san? I always thought they hated one another."

"But not on the trip to Nagasaki," Toranaga told him, leaning forward to make his point more forcefully. "Not after the Anjin saved Tsukku-san's life. Not after the tea house, which you arranged so cleverly without knowing why you did it. I read it in Anjin-san's face when he made his report; mention of the barbarian priest is painful to him. It was the same pain I always saw in your eyes before the Anjin gave you Kiku-san's contract. That isn't hate, Omi, is it? If Anjin-san felt that way about a courtesan I would buy her for him without hesitation if it would keep him here; if it were a boy, I could do the same. But barbarians are far more complex than we are. I can't buy a barbarian priest; there isn't enough silver in all Japan for that. However, if I can persuade the priest to give himself ... "

He left the speech unfinished, and Omi merely marvelled at the scope and breadth of the scheme. It was audacious, certainly, and so bizarre it must have a good chance of succeeding. The two barbarians together ... It was a staggering idea.

"Toranaga-sama," he said, bowing, a little breathless at the magnitude of his lord's expressed intention, "please allow me to assist you in your noble plan in any possible way. I admire the Anjin-san most particularly, Sire, as you know, and it would be a privilege to do anything - under your honoured direction - that would make him content to stay in Japan. Please advise me how I can be of service in this matter."

The Shogun permitted himself the merest shadow of a smile. "Firstly, Omi, this is our most protected secret; if ever I hear that it is known beyond these walls I will order you to commit seppuku at once, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sire." Omi bowed.

"Good. Secondly ... next month the trees will be in blossom. It would be a good time to go hunting, neh? I should like to instruct the two barbarians in the Japanese method of hunting. You will make all the arrangements for me, and of course you will accompany us. When the time and the place are right ... perhaps barbarian lust will make the task easy for us, neh?"

Relishing both the scheme and the return of Toranaga's good-humour there was nothing Omi could do but offer, once again, his most deferential and admiring bow. The Shogun really was the wisest man in Japan; if Anjin-san and Tsukku-san were sensible they would not struggle against his plans for them. On the contrary, if they accepted their fate and did as Toranaga wished there was every possibility of their being both loyal and happy for the rest of their lives. It was almost possible to envy them, he thought, as Toranaga detailed the arrangements he wanted Omi to make for the hunting trip.

Dismounting from his horse in a section of Osaka he distrusted intensely, Omi signalled to three of his personal samurai to accompany him to the doorway of the large white house. He had never visited the Jesuit mission before, and immediately he disliked the smell of the place - incense and barbarian food - as well as the stillness that hung over it even in the bustling middle of the day. One of his guard samurai stepped ahead of him and pulled the string on the bell over the entrance, and almost immediately the outer door was opened by a young and officious foreign priest dressed in the black robes Omi had been told they wore when on their own premises. Omi bowed to him, and received a courteous European bow in exchange.

"Kasigi Omi," he said, introducing himself. Then, with some trepidation, he launched himself precariously on a few words of garbled Portuguese extracted from Father Sebastio. "Eu querer fazer fa'ar com a'guem Tsukku-san," he said, carefully, which he hoped would indicate that he wished to speak with Father Alvito. The black-robed priest's eyes became huge in surprise, but he merely nodded understanding and stepped back to permit Omi and his three samurai to enter the building.

"Please wait here," he said, and although Omi did not recognise the words the gesture that accompanied them was unmistakeable. Uncomfortable in what felt like hostile surroundings, Omi rested a hand on the hilt of his sword as he waited.

Some moments later the plain shoji through which the priest had passed re-opened, and Father Alvito stepped out from the inner room. He, too, wore black, his dark hair just touching the back of his high collar. Omi admired the grace with which the man moved; he was very elegant, and his spine was as straight as any soldier's.

Omi bowed most respectfully. "Konnichi-wa, Tsukku-san," he said, cautious of his reception. "Please excuse me, but I have a message for you from Toranaga-sama."

"Konnichi-wa, Omi-san, this is an unexpected honour. I would be most happy to invite you into the private room," Alvito said, indicating the doorway, "but I regret we do not permit weapons to be brought in; would you consider leaving your swords with your samurai? If you wish, the door can remain open while we speak."

Without demur Omi removed his two swords and handed them over to one of his guard samurai. At the same time he turned and took from another man a large, silk-wrapped bundle he had been carrying and brought it with him when he followed Father Alvito into the inner room.

Omi stared around him in ill-concealed wonderment. Although in a Japanese building, the room he entered was completely foreign in style. There were no tatamis on the floor, and the furniture was large and ugly and very alien to him. He recognised the Christian cross on one wall, with two candles placed before it, but the other wall decorations were less comprehensible; he supposed they were pictures of Christian gods and heroes that he could hardly be expected to recognise.

Understanding his discomfiture Tsukku-san gave some orders in his own language to the other black-clad priest, who went quickly and found two small stools such as the ones Toranaga used when on campaign and set them in a corner away from the door. Father Alvito gestured to Omi to be seated, and he placed himself carefully on one stool with the package resting on his knees.

"How can I be of service to you, Omi-san?" the bearded priest asked, when the other man had departed.

"Tsukku-san, Lord Toranaga wishes very much for the honour of your presence on a hunting expedition he intends to make. He asks if you will kindly join him two days from now at the Hour of the Dragon. A horse and a servant will be provided for you."

The polite invitation drew a response of stunned silence from Alvito. He had never previously received any summons from Toranaga that was not purely official in nature, and did not suppose for an instant that the Shogun had suddenly discovered a desire for his company.

"Naze desu ka, Omi-san?" he said, at length. "Did Lord Toranaga say what he wanted? I don't hunt," he added. "At least, I never have, although," he went on, noting a certain misgiving in Omi's expression, "it's not forbidden to us, it's merely considered ... " he chose the word with care " ... unnecessary."

The bluntness of the question and the implied suspicion of Toranaga's motive shocked Omi, but he remembered that foreign barbarians found it difficult to trust where they did not understand.

"I'm sorry, Tsukku-san, but I know only that Lord Toranaga wishes to show you the Japanese way of hunting. If he has any other business to discuss with you he has not honoured me with his confidence. Do you accept his invitation?"

"Could I refuse?" One dark eyebrow rose in enquiry.

"Yes, Tsukku-san, you could, but ... excuse me, I think you should accept. I think you would find it very interesting."

Sensing a story far more complex than the one he had been told, Alvito nodded. "Very well, Omi-san, please tell Lord Toranaga I am honoured to accept his invitation."

The relief that flooded through Omi was almost palpable. "Domo, Tsukku-san, thank you. In addition, Lord Toranaga hopes that you will accept this gift. Tsukku-san, it's really a most valuable gift; Toranaga-sama does you a great honour. He sends you three of his own kimonos; there are two for everyday wear and one for formal occasions, and he has also sent one for sleeping, a yukata. He says that as you will be on a Japanese hunting expedition it would be suitable if you wore Japanese clothing. I am to show you how to wear these clothes, if you require - although I do not believe that is necessary."

Alvito took the parcel from Omi and walked over to the desk with it, setting it down and opening it carefully. The contents were scented with fragrant herbs and as he inhaled a vision of a fresh country morning filled his mind. Really, the Japanese were most particular about their appearance and their cleanliness, and it was certainly no dishonour to be presented with such fine garments by a daimyo of Toranaga's importance. The package contained a grey-blue kimono, a buff-coloured one, and a dark blue one with a design in red which he believed represented fireflies. In addition there was a white sleeping kimono and a selection of sashes and undergarments, as well as a fan with the character for 'duty' painted on it. The priest let his fingers wander gently through the expensive fabrics, and then turned a bewildered expression towards his visitor.

"Please convey to Lord Toranaga that I am overwhelmed by his generosity," he said, a little unsteadily. "I will do what I can to deserve his many kindnesses, and I will place myself at his disposal two days from now as he requests."

Omi-san stood up, thoroughly contented with the success of his endeavours. "Domo, Tsukku-san, domo. It will be my honour to bring an escort of samurai to take you to Lord Toranaga at the appropriate time."

Alvito bowed. "I will be ready when you arrive," he said. "Until our next meeting, Omi-san."

"Sayonara, Tsukku-san." Omi returned the bow, then turned and left the room almost abruptly, more than a little pleased to have completed his task. Gathering up his swords and his samurai, he left the Jesuit mission swiftly and hurried back to report to his master on the success of his venture.

Sitting at Father dell'Aqua's desk in the early morning light, Martin Alvito applied the finishing flourish to the last of the letters he had spent the night composing. He was dressed in one of the kimonos Toranaga had sent him, a grey-blue one with a design that represented the sea, tied with a white obi. He was comfortable in the clothes, cool and relaxed, his mind wandering back beyond the incident of the mudslide and the night in the tea house to his earliest years in Japan, before he had begun to study for the priesthood. He had mixed freely with Japanese children of his own age, dressed as they did, played their games, almost become one of them. Since those days he had given himself earnestly to the Order, practising obedience and humility and gradually becoming what Father dell'Aqua had always wished him to be - a strong and loyal heir-apparent. The mission in Osaka had been his own small kingdom, where Father Alvito's word held sway; he had run it efficiently and wisely, earning the respect of all those he dealt with. He had never needed to trouble the Father Visitor with everyday cares, leaving him to attend to the spiritual welfare of the brothers.

He got to his feet, blowing out the guttering candle on the desk, and stretched his limbs wearily. After working all night the prospect of a day's hard riding did not much appeal to him, but the fresh country air would do him good; he felt confined in Osaka, much preferring to be out on the road somewhere in the service of the Order - or of Toranaga.

The sound of horses' hooves in the street attracted his attention, and he looked out briefly to see his escort assembling in front of the mission. In a moment the bell would be rung and Omi-san would present himself respectfully to Father Soldi and enquire for the Tsukku-san - the honourable interpreter. He ran an eye over the company; there were several samurai he knew, and Omi-san and Buntaro-san, the widower of Lady Mariko. Finally, at the back of the group and well away from the doorway, he discerned the figure of the English pilot and the sight caused him to draw in his breath sharply.

"Anjin," he said, the spirit in turmoil within him. "Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me." His eyes closed, his head bowed, he concentrated for a moment on a last appeal to the Master he had served all his adult life. Then, with resignation, he straightened and turned away from the window. "Nevertheless, Lord, not as I will but as thou wilt."

"Father Alvito?" The priest was so preoccupied that the opening of the shoji took him by surprise, but he turned and smiled warmly at the man who entered.

"Good morning, Brother Michael," he said softly. Michael was Japanese, from a samurai family, one of those childhood playmates who had remained always at his side. All of his family had become Christian under the influence of Father dell'Aqua, and Michael himself had been Alvito's most loyal and trusted aide in the weeks since the Father Visitor's death.

"I came to see if you needed any assistance in dressing," Michael told him, mildly, "but I see you have forgotten nothing. Toranaga-sama was exceedingly generous, neh?"

Alvito's hand flew to the front of the grey-blue kimono. "I should have refused his gift," he said, irresolutely. "I have never owned anything in my life before this, and I should not have accepted it."

Michael permitted himself a little laugh. "Where is the harm, Father?" he asked, gently. "As Father dell'Aqua used to say, 'one does not refuse Toranaga'. Surely there can be no evil in paying a compliment to a powerful warlord who has been a protector and friend to our Order even though he is not himself a Christian?"

"Evil?" Alvito echoed the word distractedly. "There may be very great evil, Michael. The heretic Blackthorne is among my escort; I have long known that he would in some way be my destruction. I regret now the way I treated your friend Urano-san, Michael; I have learned since that I am weak, too."

"Father ... Martin, my friend," Michael said, abruptly, alarmed into abandoning the rigid courtesies of the Order, "you speak as if you do not expect to return."

Alvito sighed, and walked slowly around to behind the desk. "There is a letter here addressed to Bishop Mendoza stating it as Father dell'Aqua's last wish that you be ordained here as soon as possible," he said, in his most businesslike tone. "He should arrive this month or next, with Rodrigues on the Black Ship. We both know that Father Sebastio is not generously endowed with intelligence, Michael; you must look after things until His Grace arrives. Father Soldi will advise you on everyday matters - you may rely on him. I have summarised our financial position for you; I think you'll find everything in order."

"But Father Alvito ... "

Burning dark eyes fastened on Michael's face, and the quiet, almost hypnotic voice of the priest quelled his momentary rebellion. "Obedience, Michael. You have learned that by now, I hope?"

Automatically Michael dropped to his knees. "Yes, Father," he said, humbly. "I will carry out your instructions faithfully. But please tell me ... do you expect to die?"

The sounds of his samurai escort outside the building reached Alvito through the haze of preoccupation. "Perhaps not," he said, tiredly. "But you and I may both wish that I had. God has shown me a path I am afraid to tread, Michael. I have done my best to serve Him in humility and obedience, but I fear it has not been enough. I am afraid I will never say Mass in the new cathedral at Yedo," he added, wistfully. "If I am still alive a few days from now I will return whenever I can."

Michael's head remained bowed, but his words were just intelligible. "Yes, Father."

"Good. Now, stand up and come with me to the door; we may not meet in this life again and I want to part from you as your friend."

As Michael rose, Alvito accorded him the very Japanese courtesy of not noticing his tears. Exiting the private room, they found themselves in the entrance hall where Father Soldi, Kasigi Omi and two servants waited. Omi bowed low.

"Ohayo gozaimasu, Tsukku-san," he said, also bowing to Michael. "Ohayo gozaimasu, Brother. Tsukku-san, your escort is waiting."

"Domo, Omi-san, I'm ready. Goodbye, Father Soldi," he said, taking the man's hand almost affectionately. "Sayonara, Michael. Pray for me." He held out his arms, and before Michael understood what was happening he had been embraced and kissed on both cheeks in a most European way.

"Sayonara, Tsukku-san," he said. "But I'll see you again," he added, raggedly, not certain what he promised.

Alvito detached himself from Michael's clutching embrace and turned and walked away. A servant bent to assist him to mount his horse while another did the same for Omi. Alvito gripped the reins tightly and resolutely guided the beast through the pack to where Blackthorne sat, impassive. The Englishman watched him approach, knowing how poor he was at concealing his emotions and that the flame in his eyes must be obvious to everyone, not least Martin Alvito. Nevertheless he held the priest's gaze firmly and risked a pallid compliment.

"Ohayo gozaimasu, Teki-san," he said, calmly. "Honourable enemy, you look most Japanese today."