"As well you deserve," Cervera replied over his quaking shoulder. "Go back to your pit."

"Iye! It was not me who destroyed Theresa! It was that thing that corrupted my duty, that deceived me. The monster did the deed, laid the trail of horror you followed. By all thats holy, do you think I would destroy my own child and the woman who loved me?!"

Cervera began to sob. "I-I dont know what youre capable of. You dont think as we do. You never did."

The duke rushed away down the corridor, his disappearance like the abrupt reversal of a near victory.

"By Iasu himself," Gonji shouted after him, "I swear to you that Im innocent of those crimes! You must believe me!"

"Shut up, you slant-eyed devil!" Padilla bellowed, raking the grating with a poniard. "Get back in there with the rats and lice."

Gonji sat on his mat, teeth grinding in bitterness. He heard the soft call of Valentina, a note of tenderness in her voice that seemed out of place.

"Gonji-chan?"

"Leave me alone, Valentina," he said, trembling with volcanic emotion. "Just leave me be."

Father de la Cenza was deeply disturbed by the tenor of the recent debates of the interminable council deciding the fate of the increasingly infamous samurai prisoner. He visited the dungeons with the intention of discussing certain pertinent matters, the first time he had gone to see Gonji in weeks.

The samurai seemed unaccountably hostile, spurning him in that adamant fashion the prelate had come to know so well.

Surrendering in frustration, de la Cenza was surprised to find the harlot across the corridor in an unusually agreeable mood. He received her confession, though he was forced to withhold absolution until she would admit to the witchcraft shed been accused of. Nor could she be granted communion. This news she received somberly, withdrawing into her cell without her normal exhibition of rancor.

As he moved away, he was treated to a second surprise: Gonji called him back, quite an uncharacteristic display of changed heart for this strange warrior.

De la Cenza greeted and blessed him.

"Why is it," the samurai asked with a wry frown, "that out of all the clergymen who come to gawk at me, youre the only one who ever confers his blessing?"

"Well, they feel its a useless gesture, I suppose."

"So it is," Gonji agreed perversely. Then, more sincerely: "But yours conveys a certain warmth. I dont mind it at all."

"Gracias. Im sure G.o.d will be relieved to hear that." The priests eyes smiled a moment. Then he waxed serious. "Youve become quite a thorn to them. They dont know what to do about you. Do you know, theyre appealing to the Pope himself for guidance as to your disposition? The new Innocent-hes not at all like the one who authorized torture in the interest of obtaining confessions of guilt. No, not from what we can gather. Nor is he much like his immediate predecessor. Thats a very sore point with Holy Mother Church right now, Gonji-san. Very bad things are whispered about the last Holy Father, whose tenure was short-lived." He found his mouth going dry as he discussed the sensitive subject. "Theres been a climate of extreme oppression, a great upheaval both religiously and politically, since the time of that last Pontiffs election. Its rumored among the hierarchy that theres a movement afoot to eradicate all record of his tenure and work. To treat him as if he never existed! Thats unprecedented, you realize. And its of more interest to you than you might imagine. They may never have told you, but you, and the movement youve generated in Europe, and this being called Simon, are all the subject of a specific papal bull issued by the late Holy Father! And if his work is abolished, you can understand the possible interest to you."

Gonji listened with keen interest as de la Cenza continued: "You-and your work-seem to have evoked much consternation in high places. You have both supporters and detractors in lofty positions, in more than one country. Very lofty, I suppose one could say, considering that both the vicar and the reigning monarch of Spain have been consulted about your prosecution. It would, I think, be in your best interests if you would address certain issues more candidly than youve shown a willingness to in the past."

Gonji seemed to mull this over. When he spoke, he did so reticently. "Such as, Martin-san?"

"What exactly do you know of this Wunderknechten movement?"

"The Knights of Wonder?" Gonji seemed smugly amused. "I cant believe this thing is of such concern. I dont even know who started it. It seems its a sort of universal tolerance movement. It doesnt surprise me that you oppose it, in your stiff-necked insistence that youre threatened by those who refuse to accept your heel. As for my part in it, I can only guess. Ive fought in many parts of Yoroppa...taught precepts of what I myself was taught, to men under my command...to our camp-followers." He shrugged. "Some of them...may have borrowed principles of the warrior code of bushido... of the Shinto religion of my youth."

"Shinto?" de la Cenza queried.

"Surely the Jesuits must have conveyed something of its substance back to Europe. Though it is rather difficult to explain on your terms."

And Father Martin listened as Gonji attempted to do so, recognizing the dangers in its obscurities, its devotion to ancestors over G.o.d, or so it seemed, though the Oriental was vague or evasive in this regard. Troubled by it all, the prelate began to realize that Gonji enjoyed the juggling of their apparently irreconcilable theological differences, finding no contradiction in nodding to the merits of each in turn. Despite the rigidity of his bushido code of ethics, the mans cosmic view seemed an insoluble maze that he was nonetheless comfortable with.

Father Martin abandoned the subject for a more unsettling one.

"What do you know of the donado Anton Balaerik? What crossing have you had with him?"

But the samurai seemed genuinely ignorant of the sinister monk and his order, though de la Cenza was sure Balaerik had been to the dungeons more than once. Further, it had been Balaerik who had ordered the samurais full-moon exposures on the battlements above the prison fortress.

What was the source of the mysterious donados single-minded fanaticism?

The prelate described Balaerik, and Gonji seemed to flash a look of recognition, but he had nothing more to say on the subject. Father Martin told Gonji his fear, voicing it for the first time to anyone apart from his G.o.d.

"Something deeply troubles me about Balaerik, Gonji-san. He said something in council one day. Something about our divine right to settle our theological differences without pagan interference. No one else seemed disturbed by his words, but it suddenly struck me that he might have said 'our right to slaughter each other in the name of Christ. And then you said something similar the first time I came down to you here. So you can see how the two of you are inseparably linked in my mind.

"Gonji-san," he went on, spilling his inmost terrors, "I suffer from grave misgivings these days. I fear our own zealousness-indeed, our viciousness!-briefly allowed evil to sit on the papal dais itself! G.o.d forgive me."

He felt Gonjis piercing gaze. "You have your problems. I have mine."

De la Cenza was stung. He had somehow oddly fostered the hope of a kinship between them in this grim business. He sadly called for the warden to see him out of the dungeon block.

"Wait," Gonji said. "Ill tell you anything else that occurs to me that might help you. I know youre doing what you can to aid my cause. I do have a pressing need, though, Martin-san. Can you send me more paper?"

"Ill see what I can do," the prelate replied, holding back before finishing his thought.

He had not told the samurai of the councils resolve of that very day. There seemed no sense in disturbing his sleep any further with the gravity of his situation. But they had decided to prosecute him for witchcraft without waiting any longer for the expected counsel of Rome or Madrid.

His trial was set for the day after the harvest moon. Two nights hence.

Gonji was stripped of his breechcloth, his hachi-maki and shortened robe were taken away to be burned, and he was made to don a new unrepentants sanbenito. He gave no resistance, for he was loath to lose his chance at the once monthly enjoyment of the sensations of the real world, the world of the living.

He was led to the battlements of the Alcazar and lashed between his familiar embrasures. The usual crowd of full-moon taunters began to gather in the streets outside the walls. But tonight there were far more bloodthirsty gawkers in the great square of the Zocodover. The sprawling promenade was the site of a popular event Gonji would be witnessing for the first time-an auto-da-fe, the public burning of condemned criminals.

The crimes of the three were read by cowled monks: usury, murder, and witchcraft, respectively. Gonji watched in rapt fascination as the throng fell silent and the Inquisitors pursued a benediction, shot through with the frenzied cursing of the one prisoner who still wore the black sanbenito of the unrepentant-he who had been convicted of witchcraft. The other two, bedecked in the yellow garment of submission, merely hung their heads and sobbed.

Gonji found the dishonorable posturings of the three ign.o.ble and distasteful, and he gave thought to how he would comport himself should he be served up to the same fate.

The prisoners were led to the stakes, fixed high on raised platforms, and the army now took over the execution of their sentences.

Gonji experienced a wild sensation of wrath and defiance as the three madly struggling forms flared alight, the crowd cheering and proffering drinks and foodstuffs to one another. Bright-colored clothing gamboled in the streets below, as courtly gentlemen and ladies in mantillas danced the seguidilla out of rhythm to the musical cacophony that rose to Gonjis ears.

He tried to make the antic merriment, the lively sights and sounds, the scent of burning wood, exotic perfume, and rich food and drink fit the memories he cherished of years gone by. But it all seemed alien to him now.

Spain had lost its zest for him. It was merely decadent, as was most of Europe.

And then instinct told him he was in danger. When he peered over his shoulder to see who stood there, leering with unholy delight, he knew that the meaning of the event had all come together. It was complete now.

The Burning Court was a foretaste of the h.e.l.l these Europeans feared.

"Balaerik," Gonji ground out as if purging his tongue of a foul taste.

"You know my name," the evil donado replied. "Im flattered."

"And I know your meaning, evil priest."

"Evil?" Balaerik said in mocking confusion, eyebrows arching. "But what is evil? Surely from your standpoint all who represent the Church can be regarded as evil."

"Theyre merely misguided," Gonji said, feeling the sweat trickle down from his brow in the rising heat waves. "You cant cloud my thinking the way you can with zealots."

Balaerik strode with hands clasped behind him, a figure exuding smug confidence and self-satisfaction.

"So you think you stand outside the moral universe," he said. "Larger, more important, capable of judging others as you see fit?"

"Do I?" Gonji parried.

"Oh, yes indeed-and youre right. You do. As do I, and others like us. Power over the weak is all that matters in the cosmic scheme. You know that. Thats why youve become a concern for us. Even in your youth in Dai Nihon."

Gonji felt an electrifying chill whose source lay beyond the first breeze of autumn. Defiance and helplessness wrestled inside him. He was suddenly quite involved in the affairs of men-and of tyrants-again. He wanted to lash out, to shout at the priests below, to feel his swords in his grasp. To strike at the powers of evil he had too long simply abided.

He saw clearly now: Pride and pomposity had caused him to abandon the ever-present battle against evil. It was not the Spaniards who had brought him low. It was his own indifference. He was part of this land now, and Domingo had been right-he had to choose sides. For however the steps of good staggered in their efforts, evil trod quite surely.

And evil trampled all before it.

"You cant win, you know," Gonji declared boldly. "You havent even convinced them to do away with me."

"Oh, but I have. Youll see. Have you had no premonition of your own destruction? I maintain complete power over you. I know that you care nothing of your own death. So you say. Yet you stubbornly refuse to die, though youve had ample opportunities! Could it be that you wish to join the leading edge, perhaps?"

"Dont flatter yourself, you son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h. What could you possibly offer me?"

"Power. Position. You understand those things. All you need do is deliver to me the Beast."

"Simon?" Gonji said, smiling coyly.

"Yes-Simon." Balaerik breathed the name as though it were an unattainable object of fiery pa.s.sion. "His father wants him back."

Gonji bit back his fury time and again, restraining his mothers temperamental legacy, knowing that he must think clearly to deal with this nemesis. Yet all the while he fairly thought he would explode, for Balaerik likely held the answers to myriad questions Gonji had acc.u.mulated during his lifetime of tilting with the powers of chaos.

Iye, he reasoned at last, ask no questions that will admit of your own weakness. Poor tactics.

Buy time.

"Perhaps hes only waiting for the right moment to appear, neh?" Gonji tossed off the words with affected unconcern. Now-improve your lot by gradual stages. "Or maybe he simply hasnt caught my scent yet, with the filth Im immersed in."

Balaerik seemed to give it some thought. Then his dark eyes brightened, and he reached out over the embrasure as if in the grip of a seizure.

"Listen," he said reverently. "Listen to their bones cracking in the fire. The spirit remains even when the consciousness is gone. Imagine what that must feel like, samurai. Imagine the glory that must bring to the stout samurai spirit."

When Gonji removed his concentration from the spectacle below, Balaerik was gone. In that moment he fancied that he heard a distant howling.

A wolf baying at the moon.

Weary from his full-moon ordeal, Gonji found that sleep still eluded him as he lay in his cell the next morning. He was taking notice of how his physical health was improving, by stages. His body was healing, despite the circ.u.mstances, as if in response to his new determination and resolve.

One of Padillas subordinates brought him his morning meal, and it seemed the day shift was in a playful mood once again: The plate bore a ragged chunk of raw, b.l.o.o.d.y meat; and although his throat was parched, he would not drink the water, for he suspected they had urinated in it.

Gonji sat with arms and legs crossed on the floor in the center of his cell. He eschewed his morning regimen less out of fatigue than out of the enjoyment he extracted from casting looks of cold, defiant hostility at the insulting warden, through the grate on his door. Padilla soon lost interest in taunting him when it became clear that Gonji would not give him the satisfaction of a retort.

He let the glare in his eyes speak the violent thoughts that would have been less than futile to voice.

The interim Grand Inquisitor, Bishop Izquierdo, came to him that morning, not long after hed exchanged greetings with Valentina.

The harlot purred at the dour bishop in the manner she had reserved only for him, though Gonji had warned her against it many times. Izquierdo p.r.o.nounced his threat of h.e.l.lfire over her, then came back to Gonjis window grating, still flushed with rage.

Trembling with pre-volcanic emotion, he fairly stammered as his words spewed forth. "May G.o.d consign you to your evil master for all the ills youve brought His Church. May you burn in the deepest pit of h.e.l.l!"

"And who is your master, priest?" Gonji shot back. "Balaerik? He is your enemy, not I. Dont you see that? Are you so blind that you cant see the truth?"

"Silence, you heathen swine!" Padilla shouted from the bishops side.

And then Valentina was railing at them with words Gonji couldnt focus on in his own anger. She was shouting from the back of her cell rather than the grating, and when they turned to deal with her insolence, what they saw caused the Grand Inquisitor to hiss in shock and turn away out of outraged modesty.

"No, Val-" Gonji was shouting now, uncertain what she had done but knowing there would be grave consequences. "Val-let them be-"

Soldiers opened her cell and dragged her, kicking and screaming, down the corridor. Then Izquierdo directed other guards to Gonjis dank chamber.

"Remove him to another cell," the bishop was commanding. "Eradicate those pagan symbols." He pointed to the wall scrawled with j.a.panese ideograms. A soldier began pounding the etchings with an axe, the wall exploding in crumbling shards.

"Burn these," Izquierdo further ordered, indicating the samurais sheaf of poetry, reflections, and memoirs.

Gonji was thrown into the cell adjacent to Valentinas. For a time he took out his frustration on the walls of his new prison. Then, when his hands were b.l.o.o.d.y and his feet swollen, he recovered control. With a long, ragged sigh, he sat on the damp straw mat, gathering his thoughts and energies. Eyes aflame with hatred, he yearned to vent his hostility. He wrestled with the fatalistic resolve to kill the next fatuous Spaniard who entered his cell.

But though several looked in at him over the ensuing hours, none dared challenge him.

"Tina-chan-did they hurt you badly?" Gonji called gently from the edge of the grating. He had waited awhile before trying to engage her. Shed been sobbing since her return from the torture chambers.

There was a rustling in her cell and a long silence before her unsteady voice came in reply.

"Not so badly." Her voice seemed to waft to him from far off. She was on the floor of her cell. "Dios, Gonji-I didnt know-all those times they lashed you-I didnt know the pain became worse after they were done-I thought they whipped you-and it was over."

He felt a deep pang of sympathy but said nothing. He knew that there was no comfort after the lash until the oblivion of sleep came at long last.

"I dont think..." she began again. "I dont think Ill be with you-much longer. They were talking, you know."

He understood. Her trial impended. He thought to ask of the wygylls artifact but decided against it. It had begun to seem unimportant.