Toranaga said calmly, ‘Can we break through them, Captain?’ He was watching the grouped fishing boats five hundred yards ahead, and the tempting passage they had left between them.
‘No, Sire.’
‘We’ve no alternative,’ Yabu said. ‘There’s nothing else we can do.’ He glared aft at the massed Grays who waited on the shore and the jetty, their faint, jeering insults riding on the wind.
Toranaga and Yabu were on the forepoop now. The drum had been silenced and the galley wallowed in a light sea. All aboard waited to see what would be decided. They knew that they were bottled tight. Ashore disaster, ahead disaster, to wait disaster. The net would come closer and closer and then they would be captured. If need be, Ishido could wait days.
Yabu was seething. If we’d rushed for the harbor mouth directly instead of wasting useless time over Buntaro, we’d be safely out to sea by now, he told himself. Toranaga’s losing his wits. Ishido will believe I betrayed him. There’s nothing I can do—unless we can fight our way out, and even then I’m committed to fight for Toranaga against Ishido. Nothing I can do. Except give Ishido Toranaga’s head. Neh? That would make you a Regent and bring you the Kwanto, neh? And then with six months of time and the musket samurai, why not even President of the Council of Regents? Or why not the big prize! Eliminate Ishido and become Chief General of the Heir, Lord Protector and Governor of Osaka Castle, the controlling general of all the legendary wealth in the donjon, with power over the Empire during Yaemon’s minority, and afterwards power second only to Yaemon. Why not?
Or even the biggest prize of all. Shōgun. Eliminate Yaemon, then you’ll be Shōgun.
All for a single head and some benevolent gods!
Yabu’s knees felt weak as his longing soared. So easy to do, he thought, but no way to take the head and escape—yet.
‘Order attack stations!’ Toranaga commanded at last.
As Yabu gave the orders and samurai began to prepare, Toranaga turned his attention to the barbarian, who was still near the forepoop, where he had stopped when the alarm was given, leaning against the short mainmast.
I wish I could understand him, Toranaga thought. One moment so brave, the next so weak. One moment so valuable, the next so useless. One moment killer, the next coward. One moment docile, the next dangerous. He’s man and woman, Yang and Yin. He’s nothing but opposites, and unpredictable.
Toranaga had studied him carefully during the escape from the castle, during the ambush and after it. He had heard from Mariko and the captain and others what had happened during the fight aboard. He had witnessed the astonishing anger a few moments ago and then, when Buntaro had been sent off, he had heard the shout and had seen through veiled eyes the stretched ugliness on the man’s face, and then, when there should have been laughter, only anger.
Why not laughter when an enemy’s outsmarted? Why not laughter to empty the tragedy from you when karma interrupts the beautiful death of a true samurai, when karma causes the useless death of a pretty girl? Isn’t it only through laughter that we become one with the gods and thus can endure life and can overcome all the horror and waste and suffering here on earth? Like tonight, watching all those brave men meet their fate here, on this shore, on this gentle night, through a karma ordained a thousand lifetimes ago, or perhaps even one.
Isn’t it only through laughter we can stay human?
Why doesn’t the pilot realize he’s governed by karma too, as I am, as we all are, as even this Jesus the Christ was, for, if the truth were known, it was only his karma that made him die dishonored like a common criminal with other common criminals, on the hill the barbarian priests tell about.
All karma.
How barbaric to nail a man to a piece of wood and wait for him to die. They’re worse than the Chinese, who are pleasured by torture.
‘Ask him, Yabu-san!’ Toranaga said.
‘Sire?’
‘Ask him what to do. The pilot. Isn’t this a sea battle? Haven’t you told me the pilot’s a genius at sea? Good, let’s see if you’re right. Let him prove it.’
Yabu’s mouth was a tight cruel line and Toranaga could feel the man’s fear and it delighted him.
‘Mariko-san,’ Yabu barked. ‘Ask the pilot how to get out—how to break through those ships.’
Obediently Mariko moved away from the gunwale, the girl still supporting her. ‘No, I’m all right now, Fujiko-san,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ Fujiko let her go and watched Blackthorne distastefully.
Blackthorne’s answer was short.
‘He says ‘with cannon,’ Yabu-san,’ Mariko said.
‘Tell him he’ll have to do better than that if he wants to retain his head!’
‘We must be patient with him, Yabu-san,’ Toranaga interrupted. ‘Mariko-san, tell him politely, ‘Regrettably we have no cannon. Isn’t there another way to break out? It’s impossible by land.’ Translate exactly what he replies. Exactly.’
Mariko did so. ‘I’m sorry, Lord, but he says, no. Just like that. ‘No.’ Not politely.’
Toranaga moved his sash and scratched an itch under his armor. ‘Well then,’ he said genially, ‘the Anjin-san says cannon and he’s the expert, so cannon it is. Captain, go there!’ His blunt, calloused finger pointed viciously at the Portuguese frigate. ‘Get the men ready, Yabu-san. If the Southern Barbarians won’t lend me their cannon, then you will have to take them. Won’t you?’
‘With very great pleasure,’ Yabu said softly.
‘You were right, he is a genius.’
‘But you found the solution, Toranaga-san.’
‘It’s easy to find solutions given the answer, neh? What’s the solution to Osaka Castle, Ally?’
‘There isn’t one. In that the Taikō was perfect.’
‘Yes. What’s the solution to treachery?’
‘Of course, ignominious death. But I don’t understand why you should ask me that.’
‘A passing thought—Ally.’ Toranaga glanced at Blackthorne. ‘Yes, he’s a clever man. I have great need of clever men. Mariko-san, will the barbarians give me their cannon?’
‘Of course. Why shouldn’t they?’ It had never occurred to her that they would not. She was still filled with anxiety over Buntaro. It would have been so much better to allow him to die back there. Why risk his honor? She wondered why Toranaga had ordered Buntaro away by land at the very last moment. Toranaga could just as easily have ordered him to swim to the boat. It would have been much safer and there was plenty of time. He could even have ordered it when Buntaro had first reached the end of the jetty. Why wait? Her most secret self answered that their lord must have had a very good reason to have waited and to have so ordered.
‘And if they don’t? Are you prepared to kill Christians, Mariko-san?’ Toranaga asked. ‘Isn’t that their most impossible law? Thou shalt not kill?’
‘Yes, it is. But for you, Lord, we will go gladly into hell, my husband and my son and I.’
‘Yes. You’re true samurai and I won’t forget that you took up a sword to defend me.’
‘Please do not thank me. If I helped, in any minor way, it was my duty. If anyone is to be remembered, please let it be my husband or my son. They are more valuable to you.’
‘At the moment you’re more valuable to me. You could be even more valuable.’
‘Tell me how, Sire. And it will be done.’
‘Put this foreign God away.’
‘Sire?’ Her face froze.
‘Put your God away. You have one too many loyalties.’
‘You mean become apostate, Sire? Give up Christianity?’
‘Yes, unless you can put this God where He belongs—in the back of your spirit, not in the front.’
‘Please excuse me, Sire,’ she said shakily, ‘but my religion has never interfered with my loyalty to you. I’ve always kept my religion a private matter, all the time. How have I failed you?’
‘You haven’t yet. But you will.’
‘Tell me what I must do to please you.’
‘The Christians may become my enemies, neh?‘
‘Your enemies are mine, Lord.’
‘The priests oppose me now. They may order all Christians to war on me.’
‘They can’t, Sire. They’re men of peace.’
‘And if they continue to oppose me? If Christians war on me?’
‘You will never have to fear my loyalty. Never.’
‘This Anjin-san may speak the truth and your priests with false tongues.’
‘There are good priests and bad priests, Sire. But you are my liege lord.’
‘Very well, Mariko-san,’ Toranaga said. ‘I’ll accept that. You’re ordered to become friends with this barbarian, to learn all he knows, to report everything he says, to learn to think like him, to ‘confess’ nothing about what you’re doing, to treat all priests with suspicion, to report everything the priests ask you or say to you. Your God must fit in between, elsewhere—or not at all.’
Mariko pushed a thread of hair out of her eyes. ‘I can do all that, Sire, and still remain Christian. I swear it.’
‘Good. Swear it by this Christian God.’
‘Before God I swear it.’
‘Good.’ Toranaga turned and called out, ‘Fujiko-san!’
‘Yes, Sire?’
‘Did you bring maids with you?’
‘Yes, Sire. Two.’
‘Give one to Mariko-san. Send the other for cha.’
‘There’s saké if you wish.’
‘Cha. Yabu-san, would you like cha or saké?’
‘Cha, please.’
‘Bring saké for the Anjin-san.’
Light caught the little golden crucifix that hung from Mariko’s neck. She saw Toranaga stare at it. ‘You . . . you wish me not to wear it, Sire? To throw it away?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Wear it as a reminder of your oath.’
They all watched the frigate. Toranaga felt someone looking at him and glanced around. He saw the hard face and cold blue eyes and felt the hate—no, not hate, the suspicion. How dare the barbarian be suspicious of me, he thought.
‘Ask the Anjin-san why didn’t he just say there’re plenty of cannon on the barbarian ship? Get them to escort us out of the trap?’
Mariko translated. Blackthorne answered.
‘He says . . .’ Mariko hesitated, then continued in a rush, ‘Please excuse me, he said, ‘It’s good for him to use his own head.”
Toranaga laughed. ‘Thank him for his. It’s been most useful. I hope it stays on his shoulders. Tell him that now we’re equal.’
‘He says, ‘No, we’re not equal, Toranaga-sama. But give me my ship and a crew and I’ll wipe the seas clean. Of any enemy.”
‘Mariko-san, do you think he meant me as well as the others—the Spanish and the Southern Barbarians?’ The question was put lightly.
The breeze wafted strands of hair into her eyes. She pushed them away tiredly. ‘I don’t know, so sorry. Perhaps, perhaps not. Do you want me to ask him? I’m sorry, but he’s a . . . he’s very strange. I’m afraid I don’t understand him. Not at all.’
‘We’ve plenty of time. Yes. In time he’ll explain himself to us.’
Blackthorne had seen the frigate quietly slip her moorings the moment her escort of Grays had hurried away, had watched her launch her longboat, which had quickly warped the ship away from her berth at the jetty, well out into the stream. Now she lay a few cables offshore in deep water, safe, a light bow anchor holding her gently, broadside to the shore. This was the normal maneuver of all European ships in alien or hostile harbors when a shore danger threatened. He knew, too, that though there was—and had been—no untoward movement on deck, by now all cannon would be primed, muskets issued, grape, cannonball, and chainshot ready in abundance, cutlasses waiting in their racks—and armed men aloft in the shrouds. Eyes would be searching all points of the compass. The galley would have been marked the moment it had changed course. The two stern chasers, thirty pounders, which were pointing directly at them, would be trained on them. Portuguese gunners were the best in the world, after the English.
And they’ll know about Toranaga, he told himself with great bitterness, because they’re clever and they’d have asked their porters or the Grays what all the trouble was about. Or by now the God-cursed Jesuits who know everything would have sent word about Toranaga’s escape, and about me.
He could feel his short hairs curling. Any one of those guns can blow us to hell. Yes, but we’re safe because Toranaga’s aboard. Thank God for Toranaga.
Mariko was saying, ‘My Master asks what is your custom when you want to approach a warship?’
‘If you had cannon you’d fire a salute. Or you can signal with flags, asking permission to come alongside.’
‘My Master says, and if you have no flags?’
Though they were still outside cannon range it was almost, to Blackthorne, as if he were already climbing down one of the barrels, though the gunports were still closed. The ship carried eight cannon a side on her main deck, two at the stern and two at the bow. Erasmus could take her, he told himself, without a doubt, providing the crew was right. I’d like to take her. Wake up, stop daydreaming, we’re not aboard Erasmus but this sow-gutted galley and that Portuguese ship’s the only hope we have. Under her guns we’re safe. Bless your luck for Toranaga.
‘Tell the captain to break out Toranaga’s flag at the masthead. That’ll be enough, senhora. That’ll make it formal and tell them who’s aboard, but I’d bet they know already.’
This was done quickly. Everyone in the galley seemed to be more confident now. Blackthorne marked the change. Even he felt better under the flag.
‘My Master says, but how do we tell them we wish to go alongside?’
‘Tell him without signal flags he has two choices: he waits outside cannon range and sends a deputation aboard her in a small boat, or we go directly within hailing distance.’
‘My Master says, which do you advise?’
‘Go straight alongside. There’s no reason for caution. Lord Toranaga’s aboard. He’s the most important daimyo in the Empire. Of course she’ll help us and—Oh Jesu God!’
‘Senhor?’
But he did not reply, so she quickly translated what had been said and listened to Toranaga’s next question. ‘My Master asks, the frigate will what? Please explain your thought and the reason you stopped.’
‘I suddenly realized, he’s at war with Ishido now. Isn’t he? So the frigate may not be inclined to help him.’
‘Of course they’ll help him.’
‘No. Which side benefits the Portuguese more, Lord Toranaga or Ishido? If they believe Ishido will, they’ll blow us to hell out of the water.’
‘It’s unthinkable that the Portuguese would fire on any Japanese ship,’ Mariko said at once.
‘Believe me, they will, senhora. And I’ll bet that frigate won’t let us alongside. I wouldn’t if I were her pilot. Christ Jesus!’ Blackthorne stared ashore.
The taunting Grays had left the jetty now and were spreading out parallel to the shore. No chance there, he thought. The fishing boats still lay malevolently clogging the harbor’s neck. No chance there either. ‘Tell Toranaga there’s only one other way to get out of the harbor. That’s to hope for a storm. Maybe we could ride it out, where the fishing boats can’t. Then we could slip past the net.’
Toranaga questioned the captain, who answered at length, then Mariko said to Blackthorne, ‘My Master asks, do you think there’ll be a storm?’
‘My nose says yes. But not for days. Two or three. Can we wait that long?’
‘Your nose tells you? There is a smell to a storm?’
‘No, senhora. It’s just an expression.’
Toranaga pondered. Then he gave an order.
‘We are going to within hailing distance, Anjin-san.’
‘Then tell him to go directly astern of her. That way we’re the smallest target. Tell him they’re treacherous—I know how seriously treacherous they are when their interests are threatened. They’re worse than the Dutch! If that ship helps Toranaga escape, Ishido will take it out on all Portuguese and they won’t risk that.’
‘My Master says we’ll soon have that answer.’
‘We’re naked, senhora. We’ve no chance against those cannon. If the ship’s hostile—even if it’s simply neutral—we’re sunk.’
‘My Master says, yes, but it will be your duty to persuade them to be benevolent.’
‘How can I do that? I’m their enemy.’
‘My Master says, in war and in peace, a good enemy can be more valuable than a good ally. He says you will know their minds—you will think of a way to persuade them.’
‘The only sure way’s by force.’
‘Good. I agree, my Master says. Please tell me how you would pirate that ship.’
‘What?’
‘He said, good, I agree. How would you pirate the ship, how would you conquer it? I require the use of their cannon. So sorry, isn’t that clear, Anjin-san?’
‘And again I say I’m going to blow her out of the water,’ Ferriera, the Captain-General, declared.
‘No,’ dell’Aqua replied, watching the galley from the quarterdeck.
‘Gunner, is she in range yet?’
‘No, Don Ferriera,’ the chief gunner replied. ‘Not yet.’
‘Why else is she coming at us if not for hostile reasons, Eminence? Why doesn’t she just escape? The way’s clear.’ The frigate was too far from the harbor mouth for anyone aboard to see the encroaching fishing boats crowding in ambush.
‘We risk nothing, Eminence, and gain everything,’ Ferriera said. ‘We pretend we didn’t know Toranaga was aboard. We thought the bandits—bandits led by the pirate heretic—were going to attack us. Don’t worry, it will be easy to provoke them once they’re in range.’
‘No,’ dell’Aqua ordered.
Father Alvito turned back from the gunwale. ‘The galley’s flying Toranaga’s flag, Captain-General.’
‘False colors!’ Ferriera added sardonically, ‘That’s the oldest sea trick in the world. We haven’t seen Toranaga. Perhaps he isn’t aboard.’
‘No.’
‘God’s death, war would be a catastrophe! It’ll hurt, if not ruin, the Black Ship’s voyage this year. I can’t afford that! I won’t have anything interfere with that!’
‘Our finances are in a worse position than yours, Captain-General,’ dell’Aqua rapped. ‘If we don’t trade this year, the Church is bankrupt, is that clear? We’ve had no funds from Goa or Lisbon for three years and the loss of last year’s profit. . . . God give me patience! I know better than you what’s at stake. The answer is no!’
Rodrigues was sitting painfully in his seachair, his leg in a splint resting on a padded stool that was lashed safe near the binnacle. ‘The Captain-General’s right, Eminence. Why should she come at us, if not to try something? Why not escape, eh? Eminence, we’ve a pisscutting opportunity here.’
‘Yes, and it is a military decision,’ Ferriera said.
Alvito turned on him sharply. ‘No, his Eminence is arbiter in this, Captain-General. We must not hurt Toranaga. We must help him.’
Rodrigues said, ‘You’ve told me a dozen times that once war starts it’ll go on forever. War’s started, hasn’t it? We’ve seen it start. That’s got to hurt trade. With Toranaga dead the war’s over and all our interests are safe. I say blow the ship to hell.’
‘We even get rid of the heretic,’ Ferriera added, watching Rodrigues. ‘You prevent a war for the glory of God, and another heretic goes to torment.’
‘It would be unwarranted interference in their politics,’ dell’Aqua replied, avoiding the real reason.
‘We interfere all the time. The Society of Jesus is famous for it. We’re not simple, thick-headed peasants!’
‘I’m not suggesting you are. But while I’m aboard you will not sink that ship.’
‘Then kindly go ashore.’
‘The sooner the archmurderer is dead, the better, Eminence,’ Rodrigues suggested. ‘Him or Ishido, what’s the difference? They’re both heathen, and you can’t trust either of them. The Captain-General’s right, we’ll never get an opportunity like this again. And what about our Black Ship?’ Rodrigues was pilot with a fifteenth part of all the profit. The real pilot of the Black Ship had died of the pox in Macao three months ago and Rodrigues had been taken off his own ship, the Santa Theresa, and given the new post, to his everlasting joy. Pox was the official reason, Rodrigues reminded himself grimly, though many said the other pilot was knifed in the back by a ronin in a whorehouse brawl. By God, this is my great chance. Nothing’s going to interfere with that!
‘I will accept full responsibility,’ Ferriera was saying. ‘It’s a military decision. We’re involved in a native war. My ship’s in danger.’ He turned again to the chief gunner. ‘Are they in range yet?’
‘Well, Don Ferriera, that depends what you wish.’ The chief gunner blew on the end of the taper, which made it glow and spark. ‘I could take off her bow now, or her stern, or hit her amidships, whichever you prefer. But if you want a man dead, a particular man, then a moment or two would bring them into killing range.’
‘I want Toranaga dead. And the heretic.’
‘You mean the Ingeles, the pilot?’
‘Yes.’
‘Someone will have to point the Jappo out. The pilot I’ll recognize, doubtless.’
Rodrigues said, ‘If the pilot’s got to die to kill Toranaga and stop the war then I’m for it, Captain-General. Otherwise he should be spared.’
‘He’s a heretic, an enemy of our country, an abomination, and he’s already caused us more trouble than a nest of vipers.’
‘I’ve already pointed out that first the Ingeles is a pilot and last he’s a pilot, one of the best in the world.’
‘Pilots should have special privileges? Even heretics?’
‘Yes, by God. We should use him like they use us. It’d be a Godcursed waste to kill such experience. Without pilots there’s no pisscutting Empire and no trade and no nothing. Without me, by God, there’s no Black Ship and no profit and no way home, so my opinion’s God-cursed important.’
There was a cry from the masthead, ‘Ho on the quarterdeck, the galley’s changing her course!’ The galley had been heading straight for them but now she had swung a few points to port, out into the harbor.
Immediately Rodrigues shouted, ‘Action stations! Starboard watch aloft—all sails ho! Up anchor!’ At once men rushed to obey.
‘What’s amiss, Rodrigues?’
‘I don’t know, Captain-General, but we’re getting out into open sea. That fat-gutted whore’s going to windward.’
‘What does that matter? We can sink them at any time,’ Ferriera said. ‘We’ve stores still to bring aboard and the Fathers have to go back to Osaka.’
‘Aye. But no hostile’s getting to windward of my ship. That whore doesn’t depend on the wind, she can go against it. She might be coming round to hack at us from our bow where we’ve only one cannon and board us!’
Ferriera laughed contemptuously. ‘We’ve twenty cannon aboard! They’ve none! You think that filthy heathen pig boat would dare to try to attack us? You’re simple in the head!’
‘Yes, Captain-General, that’s why I’ve still got one. The Santa Theresa‘s ordered to sea!’
The sails were crackling out of their ropes and the wind took them, the spars grinding. Both watches were on deck at battle stations. The frigate began to make way but her going was slow. ‘Come on, you bitch,’ Rodrigues urged.
‘We’re ready, Don Ferriera,’ the chief gunner said. ‘I’ve got her in my sights. I can’t hold her for long. Which is this Toranaga? Point him out!’
There were no flares aboard the galley; the only illumination came from the moonlight. The galley was still astern, a hundred yards off, but turned to port now and headed for the far shore, the oars dipping and falling in unbroken rhythm. ‘Is that the pilot? The tall man on the quarterdeck?’
‘Yes,’ Rodrigues said.
‘Manuel and Perdito! Take him and the quarterdeck!’ The cannon nearest made slight adjustments. ‘Which is this Toranaga? Quickly! Helmsmen, two points to starboard!’
‘Two points to starboard it is, Gunner!’
Conscious of the sanding bottom and the shoals nearby, Rodrigues was watching the shrouds, ready at any second to override the chief gunner, who by custom had the con on a stern cannonade. ‘Ho, port maindeck cannon!’ the gunner shouted. ‘Once we’ve fired we’ll let her fall off the wind. Drop all gun ports, prepare for a broadside!’ The gun crews obeyed, their eyes going to the officers on the quarterdeck. And the priests. ‘For the love of God, Don Ferriera, which is this Toranaga?’
‘Which is he, Father?’ Ferriera had never seen him before.
Rodrigues had recognized Toranaga clearly on the foredeck in a ring of samurai, but he did not want to be the one to put the mark on him. Let the priests do that, he thought. Go on, Father, play the Judas. Why should we always do all the pox-foul work, not that I care a chipped doubloon for that heathen son of a whore.
Both priests were silent.
‘Quick, which would Toranaga be?’ the gunner asked again.
Impatiently Rodrigues pointed him out. ‘There, on the poop. The short, thickset bastard in the middle of those other heathen bastards.’
‘I see him, Senhor Pilot.’
The gun crews made last slight adjustments.
Ferriera took the taper out of the gunner’s mate’s hand.
‘Are you trained on the heretic?’
‘Yes, Captain-General, are you ready? I’ll drop my hand. That’s the signal!’
‘Good.’
‘Thou shalt not kill!’ It was dell’Aqua.
Ferriera whirled on him. ‘They’re heathens and heretics!’
‘There are Christians among them and even if there weren’t—’
‘Pay no attention to him, Gunner!’ the Captain-General snarled. ‘We fire when you’re ready!’
Dell’Aqua went forward to the muzzle of the cannon and stood in the way. His bulk dominated the quarterdeck and the armed sailors that lay in ambush. His hand was on the crucifix. ‘I say, Thou shalt not kill!‘
‘We kill all the time, Father,’ Ferriera said.
‘I know, and I’m ashamed of it and I beg God’s forgiveness for it.’ Dell’Aqua had never before been on the quarterdeck of a fighting ship with primed guns, and muskets, and fingers on triggers, readying for death. ‘While I’m here there’ll be no killing and I’ll not condone killing from ambush!’
‘And if they attack us? Try to take the ship?’
‘I will beg God to assist us against them!’
‘What’s the difference, now or later?’
Dell’Aqua did not answer. Thou shalt not kill, he thought, and Toranaga has promised everything, Ishido nothing.
‘What’s it to be, Captain-General? Now’s the time!’ the master gunner cried. ‘Now!’
Ferriera bitterly turned his back on the priests, threw down the taper and went to the rail. ‘Get ready to repel an attack,’ he shouted. ‘If she comes within fifty yards uninvited, you’re all ordered to blow her to hell whatever the priests say!’
Rodrigues was equally enraged but he knew that he was as helpless as the Captain-General against the priest. Thou shalt not kill? By the blessed Lord Jesus, what about you? he wanted to shout. What about the auto da fé? What about the Inquisition? What about you priests who pronounce the sentence ‘guilty’ or ‘witch’ or ‘satanist’ or ‘heretic’? Remember the two thousand witches burned in Portugal alone, the year I sailed for Asia? What about almost every village and town in Portugal and Spain, and the dominions visited and investigated by the Scourges of God, as the cowled Inquisitors proudly called themselves, the smell of burning flesh in their wake? Oh, Lord Jesus Christ, protect us!
He pushed his fear and loathing away and concentrated on the galley. He could just see Blackthorne and he thought, ah Ingeles, it’s good to see you, standing there holding the con, so tall and cocky. I was afraid you’d gone to the execution ground. I’m glad you escaped, but even so it’s lucky you don’t have a single little cannon aboard, for then I’d blow you out of the water, and to hell with what the priests would say.
Oh, Madonna, protect me from a bad priest.
‘Ahoy, Santa Theresa!‘
‘Ahoy, Ingeles!’
‘Is that you, Rodrigues?’
‘Aye!’
‘Thy leg?’
‘Thy mother!’
Rodrigues was greatly pleased by the bantering laugh that came across the sea that separated them.
For half an hour the two ships had maneuvered for position, chasing, tacking, and falling away, the galley trying to get windward and bottle the frigate on a lee shore, the frigate to gain sea room to sail out of harbor if she desired. But neither had been able to gain an advantage, and it was during this chase that those aboard the frigate had seen the fishing boats crowding the mouth of the harbor for the first time and realized their significance.
‘That’s why he’s coming at us! For protection!’
‘Even more reason for us to sink him now he’s trapped. Ishido will thank us forever,’ Ferriera had said.
Dell’Aqua had remained obdurate. ‘Toranaga’s much too important. I insist first we must talk to Toranaga. You can always sink him. He doesn’t have cannon. Even I know that only cannon can fight cannon.’
So Rodrigues had allowed a stalemate to develop to give them breathing time. Both ships were in the center of the harbor, safe from fishing ships and safe from each other, the frigate trembling into the wind, ready to fall off instantly, and the galley, oars shipped, drifting broadside to just within calling distance. It was only when Rodrigues had seen the galley ship all oars and turn broadside to his guns that he had turned into the wind to allow her to approach within shouting range and had prepared for the next series of moves. Thank God, the blessed Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, we’ve cannon and that bastard has none, Rodrigues thought again. The Ingeles is too smart.
But it’s good to be opposed by a professional, he told himself. Much safer. Then no one makes a foolhardy mistake and no one gets hurt unnecessarily.
‘Permission to come aboard?’
‘Who, Ingeles?’
‘Lord Toranaga, his interpreter, and guards.’
Ferriera said quietly, ‘No guards.’
Alvito said, ‘He must bring some. It’s a matter of face.’
‘The pox on face. No guards.’
‘I don’t want samurai aboard,’ Rodrigues agreed.
‘Would you agree to five?’ Alvito asked. ‘Just his personal guards? You understand the problem, Rodrigues.’
Rodrigues thought a moment, then nodded. ‘Five are all right, Captain-General. We’ll detail five men as your ‘personal bodyguards’ with a brace of pistols apiece. Father, you fix the details now. Better the Father to arrange the details, Captain-General, he knows how. Go on, Father, but tell us what’s being said.’
Alvito went to the gunwale and shouted, ‘You gain nothing by your lies! Prepare your souls for hell—you and your bandits. You’ve ten minutes, then the Captain-General’s going to blow you to eternal torment!’
‘We’re flying Lord Toranaga’s flag, by God!’
‘False colors, pirate!’
Ferriera took a step forward. ‘What are you playing at, Father?’
‘Please be patient, Captain-General,’ Alvito said. ‘This is only a matter of form. Otherwise Toranaga has to be permanently offended that we’ve insulted his flag—which we have. That’s Toranaga—that’s no simple daimyo! Perhaps you’d better remember that he personally has more troops under arms than the King of Spain!’
The wind was sighing in the rigging, the spars clattering nervously. Then flares were lit on the quarterdeck and now they could see Toranaga clearly. His voice came across the waves.
‘Tsukku-san! How dare you avoid my galley! There are no pirates here—only in those fishing ships at the harbor mouth. I wish to come alongside instantly!’
Alvito shouted back in Japanese, feigning astonishment, ‘But Lord Toranaga, so sorry, we had no idea! We thought it was just a trick. The Grays said bandit-ronin had taken the galley by force! We thought bandits, under the English pirate, were sailing under false colors. I will come immediately.’
‘No. I will come alongside at once.’
‘I beg you, Lord Toranaga, allow me to come to escort you. My Master, the Father-Visitor, is here and also the Captain-General. They insist we make amends. Please accept our apologies!’ Alvito changed to Portuguese again and shouted loudly to the bosun, ‘Launch a longboat,’ and back again to Toranaga in Japanese, ‘The boat is being launched at once, my Lord.’
Rodrigues listened to the cloying humility in Alvito’s voice and he thought how much more difficult it was to deal with Japanese than with Chinese. The Chinese understood the art of negotiation, of compromise and concession and reward. But the Japanese were pride-filled and when a man’s pride was injured—any Japanese, not necessarily just samurai—then death was a small price to repay the insult. Come on, get it over with, he wanted to shout.
‘Captain-General, I’ll go at once,’ Father Alvito was saying. ‘Eminence, if you come as well that compliment will do much to appease him.’
‘I agree.’
‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ Ferriera said. ‘You two could be used as hostages.’
Dell’Aqua said, ‘The moment there’s a sign of treachery, I order you, in God’s name, to obliterate that ship and all who sail in her, whether we’re aboard or not.’ He strode off the quarterdeck, down onto the main deck, past the guns, the skirts of his robe swinging majestically. At the head of the gangway he turned and made the sign of the cross. Then he clattered down the gangway into the boat.
The bosun cast off. All the sailors were armed with pistols, and a fused keg of powder was under the bosun’s seat.
Ferriera leaned over the gunwale and called down quietly, ‘Eminence, bring the heretic back with you.’
‘What? What did you say?” It amused dell’Aqua to toy with the Captain-General, whose continual insolence had mortally offended him, for of course he had decided long since to acquire Blackthorne, and he could hear perfectly well. Che stupido, he was thinking.
‘Bring the heretic back with you, eh?’ Ferriera called again.
On the quarterdeck Rodrigues heard the muffled, ‘Yes, Captain-General,’ and he thought, what treachery are you about, Ferriera?
He shifted in the chair with difficulty, his face bloodless. The pain in his leg was grinding and it took much of his strength to contain it. The bones were knitting well and, Madonna be praised, the wound was clean. But the fracture was still a fracture and even the slight dip of the ship at rest was troublesome. He took a swallow of grog from the well-used seabag that hung from a peg on the binnacle.
Ferriera was watching him. ‘Your leg’s bad?’
‘It’s all right.’ The grog deadened the hurt.
‘Will it be all right enough to voyage from here to Macao?’
‘Yes. And to fight a sea battle all the way. And to come back in the summer, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Yes, that’s what I mean, Pilot.’ The lips were thin again, drawn into that tight mocking smile. ‘I need a fit pilot.’
‘I’m fit. My leg’s mending well.’ Rodrigues shook off the pain. ‘The Ingeles won’t come aboard us willingly. I wouldn’t.’
‘A hundred guineas says you’re wrong.’
‘That’s more than I make in a year.’
‘Payable after we reach Lisbon, from the profits from the Black Ship.’
‘Done. Nothing’ll make him come aboard, not willingly. I’m a hundred guineas richer, by God!’
‘Poorer! You forget the Jesuits want him here more than I do.’
‘Why should they want that?’
Ferriera looked at him levelly and did not answer, wearing the same twisted smile. Then, baiting him, he said, ‘I’d escort Toranaga out, for possession of the heretic.’
‘I’m glad I’m your comrade and necessary to you and the Black Ship,’ Rodrigues said. ‘I wouldn’t want to be your enemy.’
‘I’m glad we understand one another, Pilot. At long last.’
‘I require escort out of the harbor. I need it quickly,’ Toranaga told dell’Aqua through the interpreter Alvito, Mariko nearby, also listening, with Yabu. He stood on the galley’s poopdeck, dell’Aqua below on the main deck, Alvito beside him, but even so their eyes were almost level. ‘Or, if you wish, your warship can remove the fishing boats from out of my way.’
‘Forgive me, but that would be an unwarranted hostile act that you would not—could not recommend to the frigate, Lord Toranaga,’ dell’Aqua said, talking directly to him, finding Alvito’s simultaneous translation eerie, as always. ‘That would be impossible—an open act of war.’
‘Then what do you suggest?’
‘Please come back to the frigate. Let us ask the Captain-General. He will have a solution, now that we know what your problem is. He’s the military man, we are not.’
‘Bring him here.’
‘It would be quicker for you to go there, Sire. Apart, of course, from the honor you would do us.’
Toranaga knew the truth of this. Only moments before they had seen more fishing boats loaded with archers launched from the southem shore and, though they were safe at the moment, it was clear that within the hour the neck of the harbor would be choked with hostiles.
And he knew he had no choice.
‘Sorry, Sire,’ the Anjin-san had explained earlier, during the abortive chase, ‘I can’t get near the frigate. Rodrigues is too clever. I can stop him escaping if the wind holds but I can’t trap him, unless he makes a mistake. We’ll have to parley.’
‘Will he make a mistake and will the wind hold?’ he had asked through Mariko.
She had replied, ‘The Anjin-san says, a wise man never bets on the wind, unless it’s a trade wind and you’re out to sea. Here we’re in a harbor where the mountains cause the wind to eddy and flow. The pilot, Rodrigues, won’t make a mistake.’
Toranaga had watched the two pilots pit their wits against each other and he knew, beyond doubt, that both were masters. And he had come to realize also that neither he nor his lands nor the Empire would ever be safe without possessing modern barbarian ships, and through these ships, control of their own seas. The thought had shattered him.
‘But how can I negotiate with them? What possible excuse could they use for such open hostility against me? Now it’s my duty to bury them for their insults to my honor.’
Then the Anjin-san had explained the ploy of false colors: how all ships used the device to get close to the enemy, or to attempt to avoid an enemy, and Toranaga had been greatly relieved that there might be an acceptable face-saving solution to that problem.
Now Alvito was saying, ‘I think we should go at once, Sire.’
‘Very well,’ Toranaga agreed. ‘Yabu-san, take command of the ship. Mariko-san, tell the Anjin-san he is to stay on the quarterdeck and to keep the helm, then you come with me.’
‘Yes, Lord.’
It had been clear to Toranaga from the size of the longboat that he could take only five guards with him. But this, too, had been anticipated and the final plan was simple: if he could not persuade the frigate to help, then he and his guards would kill the Captain-General, their pilot, and the priests and barricade themselves in one of the cabins. Simultaneously the galley would be flung at the frigate from her bow as the Anjin-san had suggested and, together, they would try to take the frigate by storm. They would take her or they would not take her, but either way there would be a quick solution.
‘It is a good plan, Yabu-san,’ he had said.
‘Please allow me to go in your place to negotiate.’
‘They would not agree.’
‘Very well, but once we’re out of the trap expel all barbarians from our realm. If you do, you’ll gain more daimyos than you lose.’
‘I’ll consider it,’ Toranaga had said, knowing it was nonsense, that he must have the Christian daimyos Onoshi and Kiyama on his side, and therefore the other Christian daimyos, or by default he would be eaten up. Why would Yabu wish to go to the frigate? What treachery did he plan if there was no help?
‘Sire,’ Alvito was saying for dell’Aqua, ‘may I invite the Anjin-san to accompany us?’
‘Why?’
‘It occurred to me that he might like to greet his colleague the anjin Rodrigues. The man has a broken leg and cannot come here. Rodrigues would like to see him again, thank him for saving his life, if you don’t mind.’
Toranaga could not think of any reason why the Anjin-san should not go. The man was under his protection, therefore inviolate. ‘If he wishes to do so, very well. Mariko-san, accompany Tsukku-san.’
Mariko bowed. She knew her job was to listen and to report and to ensure that everything that was said was reported correctly, without omission. She felt better now, her coiffure and face once more perfect, a fresh kimono borrowed from Lady Fujiko, her left arm in a neat sling. One of the mates, an apprentice doctor, had dressed her wound. The slice into her upper arm had not cut a tendon and the wound itself was clean. A bath would have made her whole, but there were no facilities on the galley.
Together she and Alvito walked back to the quarterdeck. He saw the knife in Blackthorne’s sash and the way the soiled-kimono seemed to fit. How far has he leeched his way into Toranaga’s confidence, he asked himself. ‘Well met, Captain-Pilot Blackthorne.’
‘Rot in hell, Father!’ Blackthorne replied affably.
‘Perhaps we’ll meet there, Anjin-san. Perhaps we will. Toranaga said you can come aboard the frigate.’
‘His orders?’
”If you wish,’ he said.’
‘I don’t wish.’
‘Rodrigues would like to thank you again and to see you.’
‘Give him my respects and say I’ll see him in hell. Or here.’
‘His leg prevents that.’
‘How is his leg?’
‘Healing. Through your help and the grace of God, in a few weeks, God willing, he will walk, though he will limp forever.’
‘Tell him I wish him well. You’d better be going, Father, time’s a-wasting.’
‘Rodrigues would like to see you. There’s grog on the table and a fine roast capon with fresh greens and gravy and new fresh bread, butter hot. It’d be sad, Pilot, to waste such food.’
‘What?’
‘There’s new golden bread, Captain-Pilot, fresh hardtack, butter, and a side of beef. Fresh oranges from Goa and even a gallon of Madeira wine to wash it down with, or brandy if you’d prefer. There’s beer, too. Then there’s Macao capon, hot and juicy. The Captain-General’s an epicure.’
‘God damn you to hell!’
‘He will, when it pleases Him. I only tell you what exists.’
‘What does ‘epicure’ mean?’ Mariko asked.
‘It’s one who enjoys food and sets a fine table, Senhora Maria,’ Alvito said, using her baptismal name. He had marked the sudden change on Blackthorne’s face. He could almost see the saliva glands working and feel the stomach-churning agony. Tonight when he had seen the repast set out in the great cabin, the gleaming silver and white tablecloth and chairs, real leather-cushioned chairs, and smelt the new breads and butter and rich meats, he himself had been weak with hunger, and he wasn’t starved for food or unaccustomed to Japanese cuisine.
It is so simple to catch a man, he told himself. All you need to know is the right bait. ‘Good-by, Captain-Pilot!’ Alvito turned and walked for the gangway. Blackthorne followed.
‘What’s amiss, Ingeles?’ Rodrigues asked.
‘Where’s the food? Then we can talk. First the food you promised.’ Blackthorne stood shakily on the main deck.
‘Please follow me,’ Alvito said.
‘Where are you taking him, Father?’
‘Of course to the great cabin. Blackthorne can eat while Lord Toranaga and the Captain-General talk.’
‘No. He can eat in my cabin.’
‘It’s easier, surely, to go where the food is.’
‘Bosun! See that the pilot’s fed at once—all that he needs, in my cabin, anything from the table. Ingeles, do you want grog, or wine or beer?’
‘Beer first, then grog.’
‘Bosun, see to it, take him below. And listen, Pesaro, give him some clothes out of my locker, and boots, everything. And stay with him till I call you.’
Wordlessly Blackthorne followed Pesaro the bosun, a large burly man, down the companionway. Alvito began to go back to dell’Aqua and Toranaga, who were talking through Mariko near the companionway, but Rodrigues stopped him.
‘Father! Just a moment. What did you say to him?’
‘Only that you would like to see him and that we had food aboard.’
‘But I was offering him the food?’
‘No, Rodrigues, I didn’t say that. But wouldn’t you want to offer food to a fellow pilot who was hungry?’
‘That poor bastard’s not hungry, he’s starving. If he eats in that state he’ll gorge like a ravenous wolf, then he’ll vomit it up as fast as a drunk-gluttoned whore. Now, we wouldn’t want one of us, even a heretic, to eat like an animal and vomit like an animal in front of Toranaga, would we, Father? Not in front of a piss-cutting sonofabitch—particularly one as clean-minded as a pox-mucked whore’s cleft!’
‘You must learn to control the filth of your tongue, my son,’ Alvito said. ‘It will send you to hell. You’d better say a thousand Ave Marias and go without food for two days. Bread and water only. A penance to God’s Grace to remind you of His Mercy.’
‘Thank you, Father, I will. Gladly. And if I could kneel I would, and I’d kiss your cross. Yes, Father, this poor sinner thanks you for your God-given patience. I must guard my tongue.’
Ferriera called out from the companionway, ‘Rodrigues, are you coming below?’
‘I’ll stay on deck while that bitch galley’s there, Captain-General. If you need me I’m here.’ Alvito began to leave. Rodrigues noticed Mariko. ‘Just a minute, Father. Who’s the woman?’
‘Donna Maria Toda. One of Toranaga’s interpreters.’
Rodrigues whistled tonelessly. ‘Is she good?’
‘Very good.’
‘Stupid to allow her aboard. Why did you say ‘Toda’? She’s one of old Toda Hiro-matsu’s consorts?’
‘No. She’s the wife of his son.’
‘Stupid to bring her aboard.’ Rodrigues beckoned one of the seamen. ‘Spread the word the woman speaks Portuguese.’
‘Yes, senhor.’ The man hurried away and Rodrigues turned back to Father Alvito.
The priest was not in the least intimidated by the obvious anger. ‘The Lady Maria speaks Latin too—and just as perfectly. Was there anything else, Pilot?’
‘No, thank you. Perhaps I’d better get on with my Hail Marys.’
‘Yes, you should.’ The priest made the sign of the cross and left. Rodrigues spat into the scuppers and one of the helmsmen winced and crossed himself.
‘Go nail yourself to the mast by your green-addled foreskin!’ Rodrigues hissed.
‘Yes, Captain-Pilot, sorry, senhor. But I get nervous near the good Father. I meant no harm.’ The youth saw the last grains of sand fall through the neck of the hourglass and he turned it.
‘At the half, go below, and take a God-cursed pail and water and a scrubbing brush with you, and clean up the mess in my cabin. Tell the bosun to bring the Ingeles aloft and you make my cabin clean. And it’d better be very clean, or I’ll have your guts for garters. And while you’re doing it, say Ave Marias for your God-cursed soul.’
‘Yes, Senhor Pilot,’ the youth said weakly. Rodrigues was a fanatic, a madman, about cleanliness, and his own cabin was like the ship’s Holy Grail. Everything had to be spotless, no matter what the weather.
