Shogun (136 page)

“I can leave when and how I want?” Blackthorne asked with disbelief.

“Yes, Anjin-san, you can leave as Lord Toranaga has agreed.”

Blackthorne stared at Mariko but she avoided his eyes, so he looked again at Yabu. “Could I leave tomorrow?”

“Yes, if you want to.” Yabu added, “About these men. They’re all
ronin
. All from the northern provinces. They’ve all agreed to swear eternal allegiance to you and your seed. All are good warriors. None has committed a crime that could be proved. All became
ronin
because their liege lords were killed, died, or were deposed. Many fought on ships against
wako.”
Yabu smiled in his vicious way. “Some may have been
wako
—you understand
‘wako’?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Those who are bound are probably bandits or
wako
. They came forward as a band and volunteered to serve you fearlessly in return for a pardon for any past crimes. They’ve sworn to Lord Noboru—
who handpicked all these men for you on Lord Toranaga’s orders—that they’ve never committed any crime against Lord Toranaga or any of his samurai. You can accept them individually, or as a group, or refuse them. You understand?”

“I can refuse any of them?”

“Why should you do that?” Yabu asked. “Lord Noboru picked them carefully.”

“Of course, so sorry,” Blackthorne told Yabu wearily, conscious of the
daimyo’s
growing ill humor. “I quite understand. But those who are bound—what happens if I refuse them?”

“Their heads will be hacked off. Of course. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing. So sorry.”

“Follow me.” Yabu stalked over to the litter.

Blackthorne glanced at Mariko. “I can
leave
. You heard it!”

“Yes.”

“That means…. It’s almost like a dream. He said—”

“Anjin-san!”

Obediently Blackthorne hurried over to Yabu. Now the litter served as a dais. A clerk had set up a low table on which were scrolls. A little farther off, samurai guarded a pile of short swords and long swords, spears, shields, axes, bows and arrows, that porters were unloading from pack horses. Yabu motioned Blackthorne to sit beside him, Alvito just in front and Mariko on his other side. The clerk called out names. Each man came forward, bowed with great formality, gave his name and lineage, swore allegiance, signed his scroll, and sealed it with a drop of blood that the clerk ritually pricked from his finger. Each knelt to Blackthorne a final time, then got up and hurried to the armorer. First he was handed a killing sword, then the short one. Each accepted both blades with reverence and examined them meticulously, expressing pride at their quality, and shoved them into his sash with savage glee. Then he was issued other weapons and a war shield. When the men took up their new places, fully armed now, samurai again and no longer
ronin
, they were stronger and straighter and looked even more fierce.

Last were the thirty bound
ronin
. Blackthorne insisted on personally cutting the bonds of each. One by one they swore allegiance as had all the others: “On my honor as a samurai, I swear your enemies are my enemies, and total obedience.”

After each man had sworn, he collected his weapons.

Yabu called out, “Uraga-noh-Tadamasa!”

The man stepped forward. Alvito was heartsick. Uraga—Brother Josephs—had been standing unnoticed among the samurai grouped nearby. He was unarmed and wore a simple kimono and bamboo hat. Yabu smirked at Alvito’s discomposure and turned to Blackthorne.

“Anjin-san. This is Uraga-noh-Tadamasa. Samurai, now
ronin
. You recognize him? Understand ‘recognize’?”

“Yes. Understand. Yes, recognize.”

“Good. Once Christian priest,
neh?”

“Yes.”

“Now not. Understand? Now
ronin.”

“Understand, Yabu-sama.”

Yabu watched Alvito. Alvito was staring fixedly at the apostate, who stared back with hatred. “Ah, Tsukku-san, you recognize him too?”

“Yes. I recognize him, Sire.”

“Are you ready to translate again—or haven’t you any stomach for it anymore?”

“Please continue, Sire.”

“Good.” Yabu waved a hand at Uraga. “Listen, Anjin-san, Lord Toranaga gives this man to you, if you want him. Once he was a Christian priest—a novice priest. Now he’s not. Now he’s denounced the false foreign god and has reverted to the True Faith of Shinto and—” He stopped as the Father stopped. “Did you say it exactly, Tsukku-san?
True Faith
of Shinto?”

The priest did not answer. He exhaled, then said it exactly, adding, “That’s what
he
said, Anjin-san, may God forgive him.” Mariko let that pass without comment, hating Yabu even more, promising herself vengeance on him one day soon.

Yabu watched them, then he continued, “So Uraga-san’s a Christian that was. Now he’s prepared to serve you. He can speak barbarian and the private tongue of the priests and he was one of the four samurai youths sent to your lands. He even met the chief Christian of all the Christians, so they say—but now he hates them all, just like you,
neh?”
Yabu was watching Alvito, baiting him, his eyes flicking back and forth to Mariko, who was listening as intently. “You hate Christians, Anjin-san,
neh?”

“Most Catholics are my enemy, yes,” he answered, completely aware of Mariko, who was staring stonily into the distance. “Spain and Portugal are enemies of my country, yes.”

“Christians are our enemies too. Eh, Tsukku-san?”

“No, Sire. And Christianity gives you the key to immortal life.”

“Does it, Uraga-san?” Yabu said.

Uraga shook his head. His voice was raw. “I no longer think so, Sire. No.”

“Tell the Anjin-san.”

“Senhor Anjin-san,” Uraga said, his accent thick but his Portuguese words correct and easily understandable, “I do not think this Catholicism is the lock—so sorry, is the key to immortality.”

“Yes,” Blackthorne said. “I agree.”

“Good,” Yabu continued. “So Lord Toranaga offers this
ronin
to you, Anjin-san. He’s renegade but from good samurai family. Uraga swears, if you’ll accept him, he’ll be your secretary, translator, and do anything you want. You’ll have to give him swords. What else, Uraga? Tell him.”

“Senhor, please excuse me. First …” Uraga took off his hat. His hair was a stubble now, his pate shaven in samurai style, but he had no queue yet. “First, I’m shamed my hair is not correct and I have no queue as a samurai should have. But my hair will grow and I am not less samurai for that.” He put his hat back on his head. He told Yabu what he had said, and those
ronin
who were near and could hear also listened attentively as he continued, “Second, please excuse me greatly but I cannot use swords—or any weapons. I’ve—I’ve never been trained in them. But I will learn, believe me I will learn. Please excuse my shame. I swear absolute allegiance to you and beg you to accept me …” Sweat trickled down his face and back.

Blackthorne said compassionately, “
Shigata ga nai, neh? Ukeru anatawa desu
, Uraga-san.” What does that matter? I accept you, Uraga-san.

Uraga bowed, then explained to Yabu what he had said. No one laughed. Except Yabu. But his laughter was cut short by the beginning of an altercation between the last two
ronin
over the selection of the remaining swords. “You two, shut up,” he shouted.

Both men spun around and one snarled, “You’re not my master! Where are your manners? Say please, or shut up yourself!”

Instantly Yabu leaped to his feet and rushed the offending
ronin
, his sword on high. Men scattered, and the
ronin
fled, Near the side of the wharf the man jerked out his sword and abruptly turned to the attack with a fiendish battle cry. At once all his friends darted to his rescue, swords ready, and Yabu was trapped. The man charged. Yabu
avoided a violent sword thrust, hacked back, and missed as the pack surged forward for the kill. Too late Toranaga samurai rushed forward, knowing Yabu was a dead man.

“
Stop!”
Blackthorne shouted in Japanese. Everyone froze at the power of his voice. “
Go there!”
He pointed to where the men had been lined up before. “
Now! Order!”

For a moment all the men on the wharf remained motionless. Then they started to move. The spell broke. Yabu darted at the man who had insulted him. The
ronin
jumped back, sidestepped, his sword held violently above his head, two-handed, waiting fearlessly for the next attack. His friends hesitated.

“
Go there! Now! Order!”

Reluctantly but obediently, the rest of the men backed out of the way, sheathed their swords. Yabu and the man circled each other slowly.

“You!” Blackthorne shouted. “Stop! Sword down! I
order!”

The man kept his furious eyes on Yabu but he heard the order and wet his lips. He feinted left, then right. Yabu retreated and the man slipped out of his grasp and rushed nearer to Blackthorne and put his sword down in front of him. “I obey, Anjin-san. I didn’t attack him.” As Yabu charged, he leaped out of the way and retreated fearlessly, more fleet than Yabu, younger than Yabu, taunting him.

“Yabu-san,” Blackthorne called out. “So sorry—think mistake,
neh?
Perhaps—”

But Yabu spouted a flood of Japanese and rushed the man, who fled again without fear.

Alvito was now coldly amused. “Yabu-san said there’s no mistake, Anjin-san. This
cabron
has to die, he says. No samurai could accept such an insult!”

Blackthorne felt all their eyes on him as he desperately tried to decide what to do. He watched Yabu stalk the man. Just to the left a Toranaga samurai aimed his bow. The only noise was that of the two men panting and running and shouting at one another. The
ronin
backed, then turned and ran away, around the clearing, sidestepping, weaving, all the time keeping up a guttural hissing flood of invective.

Alvito said, “He’s baiting Yabu, Anjin-san. He says: ‘I’m samurai—I don’t kill unarmed men like you—you’re not a samurai, you’re a manure-stinking peasant—ah, so that’s it, you’re not samurai, you’re
eta, neh?
Your mother was
eta
, your father was
eta
, and—’” The Jesuit stopped as Yabu let out a bellow of rage and pointed at
one of the men and shouted something. “Yabu says: ‘You! Give him his sword.’”

The
ronin
hesitated and looked at Blackthorne for the order.

Yabu turned to Blackthorne and shouted, “Give him his sword!”

Blackthorne picked up the sword. “Yabu-san, ask not fight,” he said, wishing him dead. “Please ask not fight—”

“
Give him the sword!”

An angry murmur went through Blackthorne’s men. He held up his hand. “Silence!” He looked at his
ronin
vassal. “Come here. Please!” The man watched Yabu, feinted left then right, and each time Yabu hacked at him in wild rage but the man managed to slip away and race to Blackthorne. This time Yabu did not follow. He just waited and watched like a mad bull readying his charge. The man bowed to Blackthorne and took the sword. Then he turned on Yabu and, with a howling battle cry, flung himself to the attack. Swords clashed and clashed again. Now the two men circled in the silence. There was another frantic exchange, the swords singing. Then Yabu stumbled and the
ronin
charged in for the easy kill. But Yabu neatly sidestepped and struck. The man’s hands, still gripping the sword, were sliced off. For a moment the
ronin
stood there howling, staring at his stumps, then Yabu hacked off his head.

There was silence. Then a roar of applause surrounded Yabu. Yabu slashed once more at the twitching corpse. Then, honor vindicated, he picked up the head by the topknot, spat carefully in the face, and tossed it aside. Quietly he walked back to Blackthorne and bowed.

“Please excuse my bad manners, Anjin-san. Thank you for giving him his sword,” he said, his voice polite, Alvito translating. “I apologize for shouting. Thank you for allowing me to blood my sword honorably.” His eyes dropped to the heirloom Toranaga had given him. Carefully he examined its edge. It was still perfect. He undid his silk sash to cleanse the blood away. “Never touch a blade with your fingers, Anjin-san, that will ruin it. A blade must feel only silk or the body of an enemy.” He stopped and looked up. “May I politely suggest you allow your vassals to test their blades? It will be a good omen for them.”

Blackthorne turned to Uraga. “Tell them.”

When Yabu returned to his house it was late in the day. Servants took his sweat-soiled clothes and gave him a fresh lounging kimono and put his feet into clean tabi. Yuriko, his wife, was waiting for him
in the cool of the veranda with cha and saké, piping hot, the way he liked to drink it.

“Saké, Yabu-san?” Yuriko was a tall thin woman with gray-streaked hair. Her dark kimono of poor quality set off her fair skin nicely.

“Thank you, Yuriko-san.” Yabu drank the wine gratefully, enjoying the sweet, harsh rasp as it slid down his parched throat.

“It went well, I hear.”

“Yes.”

“How impertinent of that
ronin!”

“He served me well, Lady, very well. I feel fine now. I’ve blooded Toranaga’s sword and made it really mine.” Yabu finished the cup and she refilled it. His hand fondled his sword hilt. “But you wouldn’t have enjoyed the fight. He was a child—he fell into the first trap.”

She touched him tenderly. “I’m glad he did, husband.”

“Thank you, but I hardly got up a sweat.” Yabu laughed. “You should have seen the priest though! It would have made you warm to see that barbarian sweating—I’ve never seen him so angry. He was so angry it almost choked him to hold it in. Cannibal! They’re all cannibals. Pity there’s no way to stamp them out before we depart this earth.”

“Do you think the Anjin-san could?”

“He’s going to try. With ten of those ships and ten of him, I could control the seas from here to Kyushu. With only him I could hurt Kiyama, Onoshi, and Harima and smash Jikkyu and keep Izu! We only need a little time and every
daimyo’ll
be fighting his own special enemy. Izu would be safe and mine again! I don’t understand why Toranaga’s going to let the Anjin-san go. That’s another stupid waste!” He bunched his fist and slammed it on the tatamis. The maid flinched but said nothing. Yuriko did not make the slightest move. A smile flickered across her face.