Tyrer lay back, his notebook forgotten, brain churning. Almost before he realized it, the little book of ukiyo-every that he had hidden in his briefcase was open and he was studying the pictures. Abruptly he replaced it.

No future in looking at dirty pictures, he thought consumed with disgust. The candle was guttering now. He blew out the flame, then lay back, the familiar ache in his loins.

What a lucky man Andr`e is. Obviously he has a mistress. That must be marvelous, if even half of what he says is true.

I wonder if I could get one too? Could I buy a contract? Andr`e said many here do, and rent private little houses in the Yoshiwara that can be secret and discreet if you wish: "It's rumored all the Ministers possess one, Sir William certainly goes there at least once a week--he thinks no one knows but everyone spies him and laughs--but not the Dutchman who's impotent, according to rumor, and the Russian who openly prefers to sample different houses..."

Should I risk it, if I could afford it? After all, Andr`e gave me a very special reason: "To learn Japanese quickly, Monsieur, acquire a sleeping dictionary--it's the only way."

But his last thought before sleep overwhelmed him was: I wonder why Andr`e was so kind to me, so voluble. Rare for a Frenchman to be so open with an Englishman. Very rare. And strange that he never mentioned Angelique once...

It was just before dawn. Ori and Hiraga, again in all-encompassing ninja clothes, came out of their hiding place in the temple grounds overlooking the Legation and ran silently down the hill, across the wooden bridge and into an alley, down it and into another. Hiraga led. A dog saw them, growled, moved into their path and died. The deft short arc of Hiraga's sword was instantaneous and he hurried onwards with the blade unsheathed, hardly missing a step, ever deeper into the city. Ori followed carefully. Today his wound had begun to fester.

In the lee of a hut on a protected corner, Hiraga stopped. "It's safe here, Ori!" he whispered.

Hastily both men slipped out of their ninja clothes and stuffed them into the soft bag Hiraga carried slung on his back, replacing them with nondescript kimonos. With great care Hiraga cleansed his sword using a piece of silk cloth, carried for that purpose by all swordsmen to protect their blades, then sheathed it. "Ready?"

"Yes."

Again he led onwards into the maze, surefooted, staying under cover where he could, hesitating at every open space until he was sure they were safe, seeing no one, meeting no one, then pressed on, heading for their safe house.

They had been watching the Legation since early morning, the bonzes--the Buddhist priests-- pretending not to notice them, once they were sure the two men were not thieves and Hiraga had identified himself and their purpose: to spy on the gai-jin. All bonzes were fanatically xenophobic and anti-gai-jin, to them synonymous with Jesuit, still their most hated and feared enemy.

"Ah, you are shishi, then you are both welcome," the old monk had said. "We have never forgotten Jesuits ruined us, or that the Toranaga Shoguns are our scourge."

From the middle of the fifteenth century to the early sixteenth, Portuguese alone knew the way to Japan. Papal edicts had also given them exclusivity to the islands, and Portuguese Jesuits the sole right to proselytize. Within a few years they had converted so many daimyos to Catholicism, therefore naturally their retainers, that Dictator Goroda had used them as an excuse to massacre thousands of Buddhist monks at that time militant, dominant in the land and opposed to him.

The tairo, Nakamura, who inherited his power, expanded it immensely, and played off bonze against Jesuit with honey, persecution, suffering and killing. Then came Toranaga.

Toranaga, tolerant of all religions, though not of foreign influence, observed that all converted daimyos had initially fought against him at Sekigahara. Three years later, he became Shogun and two years after that he resigned in favor of his son, Sudara, but kept actual power--an old established Japanese custom.

During his lifetime he leashed Jesuits and Buddhists severely, and eliminated or neutralized the Catholic daimyos. His son, Shogun Sudara, tightened the curbs and his son, Shogun Hironaga, finished the plan laid down so carefully in the Legacy where he formally outlawed Christianity from Japan on pain of death. In 1638, Shogun Hironaga destroyed the last Christian bastion at Shimabara, near Nagasaki, where a few thousand ronin, thirty thousand peasants and their families were in rebellion against him. Those who refused to recant were crucified or put to the sword immediately as common criminals. All but a handful refused. Then he turned his attention to the Buddhists. Within days he was pleased to accept the gift of all their lands, and so fettered them.

"You are welcome, Hiraga-san, Ori-san," the old monk had said again. "We are for the shishi, for sonno-joi and against the Shogunate. You are free to come or go as you please. If you want help, tell us."

"Then keep a tally of the numbers of soldiers, their comings and goings, what rooms are occupied and by whom."

The two men had waited and watched throughout the day. At dusk they put on their ninja clothes.

Twice Hiraga moved closer to the Legation, once he scaled the fence to experiment and reconnoiter but quickly retreated unseen when a patrol almost trod on him.

"We'll never get in by night, Ori," he whispered. "Or by day. Too many troops now."

"How long do you think they'll stay?"' Hiraga smiled. "Until we drive them out."

Now they were almost at their safe house, an Inn that lay to the east of the castle. Dawn was near, the sky lighter and cloud cover thinner than yesterday.

Ahead the street was deserted. So was the bridge.

Confident, Hiraga hurried onto it, skidded to a stop. A Bakufu patrol of ten men stepped out of the shadows. At once both sides went into attack-defense positions, hands on their sword hilts.

"Come forward and give me your identification papers," the senior samurai called out.

"Who are you to challenge anyone?"

"You see our badges," the man said angrily, stepping onto the wooden slats of the bridge. The remainder of his men spread out behind him. "We are of warriors of Mito, 9th Regiment, guardians of the Shogun. Identify yourselves."

"We have been spying on the enemy stockade.

Let us pass."

"You look like thieves. What's in that bag on your back, eh? Identification!"

Ori's shoulder was throbbing. He had seen the telltale discoloration but had hidden it from Hiraga, and the pain. His head ached but he knew instantly he had nothing to lose and an admirable death to gain.

"Sonno-joi!" he bellowed suddenly and hurled himself at the samurai on the bridge. The others backed off to give them room as Ori hacked with all his might, recovered as the blow was deflected and again attacked, feinted and this time his blow was true. The man was dead on his feet, then crumpled. At once Ori darted for another man who retreated, went for another who also retreated. The ring of men began to close.

"Sonno-joi!" Hiraga shouted and rushed to Ori's side. Together they stood at bay.

"Identify yourselves!" a young warrior said, unimpressed. "I am Hiro Watanabe and do not wish to kill or be killed by an unknown warrior."

"I am shishi from Satsuma!" Ori said proudly, adding an alias as was their usual custom, "Riyama Takagaki."

"And I from Choshu, my name Shodan Moto!

Sonno-joi," Hiraga shouted and hurled himself at Watanabe who retreated without fear, as did the others nearby.

"I've never heard of either of you," Watanabe said through his teeth. "You're not shishi--you are scum." His rush was parried. Hiraga, a master swordsman, used his assailant's strength and speed to catch him off balance, sidestepped and cut under the opposing sword into the man's unprotected side, withdrew and in one continuous movement sliced into the man's neck, decapitated him as he toppled to the ground, ending once more in perfect attack position.