Autumn Bridge (38 page)

It is, Genji said.

Until then, Farrington said, saluted Genji, and rode off. He half expected Smith to shoot him in the back. There was little to separate a liar from a coward, and a coward would do anything to achieve his ends. He heard Smith’s angry voice raised in protest. But no shot came.

It was not only to avoid Smith that Farrington wanted to ride alone. He needed solitude to order his thoughts, which were much confused. He had no doubts about his feelings for Emily. He was in love with her. That should have made his course of action clear, but it had not, for nearly everything else was questionable in a situation where there was a distinct paucity of certain answers.

The most pressing of the myriad uncertainties was the nature of the relationship between Emily and Genji. Even the first rumors he had heard had consistency only in the barest facts. Everyone began by telling him, rather breathlessly and too eagerly, that a beautiful young missionary named Emily Gibson was living in the palace of Lord Genji, one of the most dissolute warlords in Japan. There agreement ended.

They were brazenly flouting the laws of God and man against religious and racial miscegenation.

They were pious Christians, one the converter, the other the converted, living as nun and monk.

She was a desperate addict of the satanic poppy, and he, her conscienceless supplier.

He was a sexual deviant who had seduced her to his nefarious Oriental ways, ways to which she had become no more than a pathetic and degraded slave.

She was not a missionary at all, but a secret political agent of France, Russia, England, Holland, the United States, or the Papacy, plotting for or against the Shogun or the Emperor, with the ultimate aim of delivering control of the country into the hands of France, Russia, England, Holland, the United States, or the Papacy.

He was not only decadent, but insane, believing himself to be a prophet and devising a scheme, a scheme in which the fallen woman was deeply involved, to set himself up as Pontiff of a new religion, one that would enable him to displace Emperor, Shogun, Buddha, and the ancient gods of Japan, and become supreme ruler of a nation of fanatical believers in himself alone.

The wild rumors that had flown about among sailors and soldiers during the war were nothing compared to what Farrington heard within a week of his arrival in Edo. If the tantalizing fact of a Western woman ensconced in the palace of an Eastern lord were not enough, speculation of the most limitless kind was further encouraged by the scandal surrounding the Light of the True Word of the Prophets of Christ, that sect being the one for which Emily had arrived in Japan as a missionary. The True Word church had collapsed three years earlier amidst accusations of deviancy so extreme they strained credulity. Even the muted official findings had contained suggestions of perverse and outrageous carnality that would have well complemented the seraglios of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Farrington had neither given the rumors credence nor dismissed them outright. He had learned during the war that the unbelievable was unfortunately sometimes all too true. By degrees imperceptible even to themselves, it was possible for men to sink to a level more bestial than that of the beasts of an African jungle. Those savage creatures were constrained by the limits of natural law. Men who lost their humanity had no such saving grace.

The rumors of opium addiction caused the deepest concern. He had not at the time met or even laid eyes on Emily Gibson or her warlord host, so he knew nothing of their character beyond the conflicting reports he had heard. But he had visited Hong Kong during a naval tour of Eastern ports, and there had observed the insidious corruptive power of the drug with his own eyes. If this Miss Gibson was addicted, there was nothing she would not do to maintain her supply. In the opium dens and brothels of Hong Kong, he had seen women in various states of drugged compliance offered for the perverted pleasure of any who would pay the price. It shocked and saddened him that a countrywoman, and a Christian missionary at that, could have sunk to the same depths.

But he had felt no emotional engagement beyond that natural for a gentleman upon hearing of the misfortunes of a lady. This world was truly a vale of tears. He could not hope to alleviate the suffering of every unfortunate whose path crossed his own. He had learned this lesson repeatedly during the war. Thus, he had sympathy, but no inclination toward personal involvement.

Then he saw her.

It was at an embassy reception intended to bring together members of the growing American business community with influential Japanese nobles. Anti-foreign sentiment had made it necessary to surround the embassy grounds with a fully armed contingent of United States Marines.

“Unfortunate,” the ambassador had said to him. “They somewhat diminish the welcoming atmosphere conducive to our purposes.”

“Perhaps not, Mr. Ambassador,” Farrington had replied. “Our military display may well be viewed in a more celebratory light than we imagine. The Shogun’s troops patrol all roads leading here, and every warlord will undoubtedly arrive surrounded by his own regiment. Unlike the Chinese, the Japanese seem to find armed troops not unpleasant to behold.”

“Let us hope you are right,” the ambassador said. Then, as one of the invited warlords arrived, he said, “Good God. How brazen. He’s brought
her
.”

“Sir?”

“That worthy is Lord Genji, an influential member of the Shogun’s inner council. I have mentioned him before.”

“Forgive me, sir. I have heard so many Japanese names during the week I have been here, it has been difficult to keep them properly sorted. I cannot say that I remember what you said about him.”

“Well, you do recall the so-called missionary I told you about? Emily Gibson?”

“Yes, that I do. Such a sad and unusual story.”

“She is the woman with Lord Genji.”

He saw her hair first, shimmering filaments of spun gold among the dark heads. Then he caught a glimpse of her form, surprisingly shapely in a rather prim and unstylish dress at least a decade out of date.

“There’s no escaping it,” the ambassador said. “We cannot afford to give offense to Lord Genji.” He led Farrington toward the recent arrivals.

“Good evening, Ambassador Van Valkenburgh,” Genji said. “Thank you for your kind invitation.”

Genji was not the grim warlord Farrington had expected. He smiled most readily. Furthermore, his entire demeanor was distinctly unmartial, perhaps even to the extent of slight effeminacy. Most surprising, he spoke English nearly without an accent.

“The pleasure is entirely mine, Lord Genji,” the ambassador said. He made a polite bow to Genji’s companion. “Miss Gibson, how nice to see you once again. It has been too long.”

“Thank you, sir,” Emily said.

“Lord Genji, Miss Gibson, this is Lieutenant Robert Farrington, my newly assigned naval attaché.”

More polite words were exchanged. Farrington hardly knew what he heard and forgot what he said nearly as soon as he had spoken. Had his eyes ever beheld such a vision of feminine perfection? He could honestly say that they had not. But it was not her beauty that captivated him, or at least, not her beauty alone. He saw within her open gaze and her tentative smile signs of a sadness hidden deep within. At once, that hidden injury, its cause unknown, touched him. From that moment, even before any significant words had passed between them, he began to care.

He had since then had occasion to contemplate the event. Would he have cared about her welfare and her salvation had her physical attributes not been as they were? What if she had been deformed, or even merely homely? What then? Would her fate have mattered so much? In truth, would his motivation bear close scrutiny? Were his feelings of love really more noble than the mere desire for possession he attributed to his rival Smith?

Always, he was able to answer yes, because he knew it was that sadness that made her beauty so compelling to him. He was vain enough to think he could cure her of it by the simple act of loving her faithfully and completely. Love was the last great hope that remained to him. He had lost his belief in everything else during the war.

He expected Genji to obstruct his suit, but the warlord did not. On the contrary, he encouraged it from the very start. He was, at the same time, also encouraging Charles Smith, though Farrington didn’t know it at the time. In any case, both actions strongly suggested that Genji did not have an attachment to Emily. It did not necessarily indicate that their relationship was entirely proper, however. Once he had gotten to know Emily, he knew she would never knowingly engage in immoral behavior. But that did not mean she could not be victimized in some way without her knowledge. Genji was an Oriental potentate with absolute power in his own domain and among his own clansmen. His palace and his castle were undoubtedly riddled with secret passages, chambers, and observation sites. He was no Christian. This was plain to Farrington despite Emily’s insistence that she had converted him to the true faith. In many conversations over the past months, Genji had made it clear that he was a follower of an ancient and obscure sect of Buddhism that embodied no laws of morality, ethics, or propriety, but focused instead on a mystical liberation from the laws of man and God. Such a man was capable of anything.

Farrington rolled to his side and closed his eyes. He should sleep. It did no good to stare at the night and review thoughts he had reviewed so many times in the past. Tomorrow they would reach the monastery, they would see Emily, and everything would be settled. He was not confident it would be settled as it should, in his favor. But even if she chose Smith, at least she would be taken away from Genji. Farrington feared she favored Smith rather than him. She must, because she showed him no signs of affection. All he received was the politeness of a proper lady for any gentleman of her acquaintance. If she felt nothing for him, then her affections must belong to Smith. But if so, why was she taking so long to make her decision known? He knew she was a very gentle soul. She was perhaps loath to hurt his feelings by rejecting him and hoped that somehow rejection would become unnecessary. She was not hoping for a duel, of course, but perhaps simply that he would see the futility of his suit and withdraw on his own, without the necessity of her having to say anything at all.

There was another possibility, which occurred to him now as he dropped into sleep, and which, it being so repugnant, he forgot before he awoke the following morning.

“The naval officer is alone, five minutes’ gallop ahead of Lord Genji and the other outsider,” Lord Saemon’s scout said. “Lord Hidé and twenty-four samurai ride with Lord Genji.”

Twenty-four men. Saemon wondered why. Genji always traveled with a minimal escort. Why would he have such a sizable contingent with him this time? The ride from Edo to Mushindo Monastery was neither long nor hazardous. Did he suspect something? Of course, no matter what he suspected, he could not possibly suspect what Saemon had planned. He himself was accompanied by only ten retainers. Not even they were necessary. He needed no one’s assistance to realize his intentions. Since he was popular among both anti-foreign samurai and those who favored accommodation with the Western powers, as well as with those for and against the Shogun and the Emperor, he also needed no corps of bodyguards to protect him. They were there simply for the sake of propriety. A Great Lord could not travel through the countryside alone.

Saemon knew why Farrington and Smith were not riding together. Since the two had begun courting Emily Gibson, they had become bitter enemies. He found this highly amusing. The officer should be concentrating on his military career and the businessman on accumulating greater profits. Yet here they were, wasting irrecoverable time and precious energy on securing a wife who not only lacked connections but was viewed with disdain by her countrymen. Truly, how inscrutable.

“Were you seen?”

“No, lord. I am certain I was not.”

Saemon was tempted to admonish the scout, but restrained himself. What good would it do? As much as two hundred years of peace had eroded the skills of samurai, so had it somehow increased their arrogance. How could the man be certain he was not seen? He could not. Yet he did not hesitate to make the claim. Genji was far more attentive than he seemed, and so was Hidé. They were both among the few contemporary samurai to have experienced actual combat. His scout probably had been seen, but Genji was clever enough not to let it be known.

Saemon said, “Let us join Lord Genji. Ride ahead and ask his permission.”