Benedict first came to Japan with Commodore Perry in 1854. Benedict's interest was primarily military, attempting to gauge the effect of the introduction of firearms into a feudal society. However, something in the culture of the Japanese struck a chord in the warrior. The simplicity of Taoism; the patience of pruning a bonsai; the wisdom implicit in a Japanese rock garden. All of these things granted a measure of peace to one who had spent a hundred lifetimes at war.
Benedict returned frequently to Japan between jaunts to view the Shadow Earth's conversion from Napoleonic tactics to "modern" warfare in the Crimea and American South. It was toward the end of the American Civil War that Benedict met Mariko Saramoto, a beautiful young woman from a small village outside of Kyoto. Their courtship was brief, but passionate. After several months, Benedict was unexpectedly called away to Amber, promising Mariko that he would return for her. He left the lovely woman a gift fit for a princess, a bracelet studded with gems from across the shadows.
Benedict did return, three-and-a-half years later, only to find that over eight years had passed on this Shadow, and Mariko, driven from her village, was dead. No mention was made of the bastard child that had precipitated her exile. Struck by grief, Benedict was not to return to the shadow for almost ten years (Amber time).
In 1894, Benedict was again in South-East Asia, this time on the Korean peninsula, witnessing the first Sino-Japanese War. It was several months into the war when Benedict witnessed a surprise attack by the Chinese. Two brigades swept through the pickets and threatened to wreak havoc on the encamped Japanese. Benedict watched as a young lieutenant rapidly organized his company into a skirmish line to hold back the invaders.
After two volleys slowed the Chinese advance, the lieutenant ordered his troops to affix bayonets and charge. Although heavily outnumbered, the defenders, buoyed by their commander's courage, attacked with a fury. The unexpected charge deprived the Chinese of their momentum and their lines wavered. The lieutenant pushed toward the attacker's colors, sweeping his enemies from his path with impressive strength, despite numerous wounds.
It was just as the lieutenant reached the color-bearer that he was shot at close range by the Chinese commander. The lieutenant stiffened and fell but his fall only further incited his troops, who rallied to his body, attempting to keep it from falling into the hands of the enemy. The Japanese company was torn apart by the sheer numbers oppressing them, but none wavered. They held out for several minutes until, with only a half dozen men remaining, they were relieved by the arrival of additional troops from the encampment. Seeing that the element of surprise was lost, the Chinese retreated, leaving behind a large number of dead and wounded.
Benedict made his way to the site of the skirmishing to see the man whose strength and skill surpassed that of all but a few on this shadow. He was surprised to find that the lieutenant lived. Apparently, the bullet had severed his spinal column, leaving him paralyzed from the neck down. Benedict was struck by the young man's green eyes, which matched Benedict's own-A rarity in this part of the world. He also saw traces of Mariko's delicate features in the young man's face . . . a face that Benedict quickly determined was actually a woman's.
As he was determining the extent of the young woman's paralysis, Benedict discovered the bracelet, which was hidden beneath the lieutenant's uniform. It was the same one he had given to Mariko thirty years earlier. Benedict had the young woman borne on a stretcher to his tent, whereupon he banished his staff and proceeded to clean the wound and remove the offending bullet. Although he used techniques and medicines that would not come into vogue in this shadow for another century, it was clear that the woman was in extreme pain. Despite this, she maintained a stoic demeanor and never let out a cry.
Benedict stayed with his newly discovered daughter throughout the next day and night until she was out of danger. He did not mention his relationship to her for fear of sending her into shock and endangering her safety. When she could be moved, he brought her back to one of his manors in Avalon. It was there, two weeks later, that he told her that he was her father. It was painful for Benedict to watch the flood of emotions on her face, none of which evinced happiness or joy.