Shogun (16 page)

“He should have some water,” van Nekk said.

“The pox on that,” Sonk said. “I say he gets none.”

They all voted on it and it was agreed he got none.

“I don’t agree,” Blackthorne said.

“You don’t agree to anything we say,” Jan Roper said. “He’s the enemy. He’s a heathen devil and he almost killed you.”

“You’ve almost killed me. Half a dozen times. If your musket had fired at Santa Magdellana, you’d have blown my head off.”

“I wasn’t aiming at you. I was aiming at stinking Satanists.”

“They were unarmed priests. And there was plenty of time.”

“I wasn’t aiming at you.”

“You’ve almost killed me a dozen times, with your God-cursed anger, your God-cursed bigotry, and your God-cursed stupidity.”

“Blasphemy’s a mortal sin. Taking His name in vain is a sin. We’re in His hands, not yours. You’re not a king and this isn’t a ship. You’re not our keep—”

“But you will do what I say!”

Jan Roper looked round the cellar, seeking support in vain. “Do what you want,” he said sullenly.

“I will.”

The samurai was as parched as they, but he shook his head to the offered cup. Blackthorne hesitated, put the cup to the samurai’s swollen lips, but the man smashed the cup away, spilling the water, and said something harshly. Blackthrone readied to parry the following blow. But it never came. The man made no further move, just looked away into space.

“He’s mad. They’re all mad,” Spillbergen said.

“There’s more water for us. Good,” Jan Roper said. “Let him go to the hell he deserves.”

“What’s your name? Namu?” Blackthorne asked. He said it again in different ways but the samurai appeared not to hear.

They left him alone. But they watched him as if he were a scorpion. He did not watch them back. Blackthorne was certain the man was trying to decide on something, but he had no idea what it could be.

What’s on his mind, Blackthorne asked himself. Why should he refuse water? Why was he left here? Was that a mistake by Omi? Unlikely. By plan? Unlikely. Could we use him to get out? Unlikely. The whole world’s unlikely except it’s likely we’re going to stay here until they
let
us out … if they let us out. And if they let us out, what next? What happened to Pieterzoon?

The flies swarmed with the heat of the day.

Oh, God, I wish I could lie down—wish I could get into that bath—they wouldn’t have to carry me there now. I never realized how important a bath is. That old blind man with the steel fingers! I could use him for an hour or two.

What a waste! All our ships and men and effort for this. A total failure. Well, almost. Some of us are still alive.

“Pilot!” Van Nekk was shaking him. “You were asleep. It’s him—he’s been bowing to you for a minute or more.” He motioned to the samurai who knelt, head bowed in front of him.

Blackthorne rubbed the exhaustion out of his eyes. He made an effort and bowed back.

“Hai?”
he asked curtly, remembering the Japanese word for “yes.”

The samurai took hold of the sash of his shredded kimono and wrapped it around his neck. Still kneeling, he gave one end to Blackthorne and the other to Sonk, bowed his head, and motioned them to pull it tight.

“He’s afraid we’ll strangle him,” Sonk said.

“Christ Jesus, I think that’s what he wants us to do.” Blackthorne let the sash fall and shook his head.
“Kinjiru,”
he said, thinking how useful that word was. How do you say to a man who doesn’t speak your language that it’s against your code to commit murder, to kill an unarmed man, that you’re not executioners, that suicide is damned before God?

The samurai asked again, clearly begging him, but again Blackthorne shook his head.
“Kinjiru.”
The man looked around wildly. Suddenly he was on his feet and he had shoved his head deep into the latrine bucket to try to drown himself. Jan Roper and Sonk immediately pulled him out, choking and struggling.

“Let him go,” Blackthorne ordered. They obeyed. He pointed at the latrine. “Samurai, if that’s what you want, go ahead!”

The man was retching, but he understood. He looked at the foul bucket and knew that he did not have the strength to hold his head there long enough. In abject misery the samurai went back to his place by the wall.

“Jesus,” someone muttered.

Blackthorne dipped half a cup of water from the barrel, got to his feet, his joints stiff, went over to the Japanese and offered it. The samurai looked past the cup.

“I wonder how long he can hold out,” Blackthorne said.

“Forever,” Jan Roper said. “They’re animals. They’re not human.”

“For Christ’s sake, how much longer will they keep us here?” Ginsel asked.

“As long as they want.”

“We’ll have to do anything they want,” van Nekk said. “We’ll
have to if we want to stay alive and get out of this hell hole. Won’t we, Pilot?”

“Yes.” Blackthorne thankfully measured the sun’s shadows. “It’s high noon, the watch changes.”

Spillbergen, Maetsukker, and Sonk began to complain but he cursed them to their feet and when all were rearranged he lay down gratefully. The mud was foul and the flies worse than ever, but the joy of being able to stretch out full length was enormous.

What did they do to Pieterzoon? he asked himself, as he felt his fatigue engulfing him. Oh, God help us to get out of here. I’m so frightened.

There were footsteps above. The trapdoor opened. The priest stood there flanked by samurai.

“Pilot. You are to come up. You are to come up alone,” he said.

All eyes in the pit went to Blackthorne.

“What do they want with me?”

“I don’t know,” Father Sebastio said gravely. “But you must come up at once.”

Blackthorne knew that he had no option, but he did not leave the protective wall, trying to summon more strength. “What happened to Pieterzoon?”

The priest told him. Blackthorne translated for those who did not speak Portuguese.

“The Lord have mercy on him,” van Nekk whispered over the horrified silence. “Poor man. Poor man.”

“I’m sorry. There was nothing I could do,” the priest said with a great sadness. “I don’t think he knew me or anyone the moment they put him into the water. His mind was gone. I gave him absolution and prayed for him. Perhaps, through God’s mercy….
In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti
. Amen.” He made the sign of the cross over the cellar. “I beg you all to renounce your heresies and be accepted back into God’s faith. Pilot, you must come up.”

“Don’t leave us, Pilot, for the love of God!” Croocq cried out.

Vinck stumbled to the ladder and started to climb. “They can take me—not the Pilot. Me, not him. Tell him—” He stopped, helplessly, both feet on the rungs. A long spear was an inch away from his heart. He tried to grab the haft but the samurai was ready and if Vinck had not jumped back he would have been impaled.

This samurai pointed at Blackthorne and beckoned him up. Harshly. Still Blackthorne did not move. Another samurai shoved a long barbed staff into the cellar and tried to hook Blackthorne out.

No one moved to help Blackthorne except the samurai in the cellar. He caught the barb fast and said something sharply to the man above, who hesitated; then he looked across at Blackthorne, shrugged and spoke.

“What did he say?”

The priest replied, “It’s a Japanese saying: ‘A man’s fate is a man’s fate and life is but an illusion.’”

Blackthorne nodded to the samurai and went to the ladder without looking back and scaled it. When he came into full sunlight, he squinted against the painful brilliance, his knees gave way, and he toppled to the sandy earth.

Omi was to one side. The priest and Mura stood near the four samurai. Some distant villagers watched for a moment and then turned away.

No one helped him.

Oh, God, give me strength, Blackthorne prayed. I’ve got to get on my feet and pretend to be strong. That’s the only thing they respect. Being strong. Showing no fear. Please help me.

He gritted his teeth and pushed against the earth and stood up, swaying slightly. “What the hell do you want with me, you poxy little bastard?” he said directly at Omi, then added to the priest, “Tell the bastard I’m a
daimyo
in my own country and what sort of treatment is this? Tell him we’ve no quarrel with him. Tell him to let us out or it’ll be the worse for him. Tell him I’m a
daimyo
, by God. I’m heir to Sir William of Micklehaven, may the bastard be dead long since. Tell him!”

The night had been terrible for Father Sebastio. But during his vigil he had come to feel God’s presence and gained a serenity he had never experienced before. Now he knew that he could be an instrument of God against the heathen, that he was shielded against the heathen, and the pirate’s cunning. He knew, somehow, that this night had been a preparation, a crossroads for him.

“Tell him.”

The priest said in Japanese, “The pirate says he’s a lord in his own country.” He listened to Omi’s reply. “Omi-san says he does not care if you are a king in your own country. Here you live at Lord Yabu’s whim—you and all your men.”

“Tell him he’s a turd.”

“You should beware of insulting him.”

Omi began talking again.

“Omi-san says that you will be given a bath. And food and drink. If you behave, you will not be put back into the pit.”

“What about my men?”

The priest asked Omi.

“They will stay below.”

“Then tell him to go to hell.” Blackthorne walked toward the ladder to go below again. Two of the samurai prevented him, and though he struggled against them, they held him easily.

Omi spoke to the priest, then to his men. They released him and Blackthorne almost fell.

“Omi-san says that unless you behave, another of your men will be taken up. There is plenty of firewood and plenty of water.”

If I agree now, thought Blackthorne, they’ve found the means to control me and I’m in their power forever. But what does it matter, I’m in their power now and, in the end, I will have to do what they want. Van Nekk was right. I’ll have to do anything.

“What does he want me to do? What does it mean to ‘behave’?”

“Omi-san says, it means to obey. To do what you are told. To eat dung if need be.”

“Tell him to go to hell. Tell him I piss on him and his whole country—and his
daimyo.”

“I recommend you agree to wh—”

“Tell him what I said, exactly, by God!”

“Very well—but I did warn you, Pilot.”

Omi listened to the priest. The knuckles on his sword hand whitened. All of his men shifted uneasily, their eyes knifing into Blackthorne.

Then Omi gave a quiet order.

Instantly two samurai went down into the pit and brought out Croocq, the boy. They dragged him over to the cauldron, trussed him while others brought firewood and water. They put the petrified boy into the brimming cauldron and ignited the wood.

Blackthorne watched the soundless mouthings of Croocq and the terror that was all of him. Life has no value to these people at all, he thought. God curse them to hell, they’ll boil Croocq as certain as I’m standing on this God-forsaken earth.

Smoke billowed across the sand. Sea gulls were mewing around the fishing boats. A piece of wood fell out of the fire and was kicked back again by a samurai.

“Tell him to stop,” Blackthorne said. “Ask him to stop.”

“Omi-san says, you agree to behave?”

“Yes.”

“He says, you will obey all orders?”

“As far as I can, yes.”

Omi spoke again. Father Sebastio asked a question and Omi nodded.

“He wants you to answer directly to him. The Japanese for ‘yes’ is ‘hai.’ He says, you will obey all orders?”

“As far as I can,
hai.”

The fire was beginning to warm the water and a nauseating groan broke from the boy’s mouth. Flames from the wooden fire that was set into the bricks below the iron licked the metal. More wood was piled on.

“Omi-san says, lie down. Immediately.”

Blackthorne did as he was ordered.

“Omi-san says that he had not insulted you personally, neither was there any cause for you to insult him. Because you are a barbarian and know no better yet, you will not be killed. But you will be taught manners. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“He wants you to answer direct to him.”

There was a wailing cry from the boy. It went on and on and then the boy fainted. One of the samurai held his head out of the water.

Blackthorne looked up at Omi. Remember, he ordered himself, remember that the boy is in your hands alone, the lives of all your crew are in your hands. Yes, the devil half of him began, but there’s no guarantee that the bastard’ll honor a bargain.

“Do you understand?”

“Hai.”

He saw Omi hitch up his kimono and ease his penis out of his loincloth. He had expected the man to piss in his face. But Omi did not. He pissed on his back. By the Lord God, Blackthorne swore to
himself, I will remember this day and somehow, somewhere, Omi will pay.

“Omi-san says, it is bad manners to say that you will piss on anyone. Very bad. It is bad manners and very stupid to say you will piss on anyone when you are unarmed. It is very bad manners and even more stupid to say you will piss on anyone when you are unarmed, powerless, and not prepared to allow your friends or family or whomever to perish first.”

Blackthorne said nothing. He did not take his eyes off Omi.

“Wakarimasu ka?”
Omi said.

“He says, do you understand?”

“Hai.”

“Okiro.”

“He says you will get up.”

Blackthorne got up, pain hammering in his head. His eyes were on Omi and Omi stared back at him.

“You will go with Mura and obey his orders.”

Blackthorne made no reply.

“Wakarimasu ka?”
Omi said sharply.

“Hai.”
Blackthorne was measuring the distance between himself and Omi. He could feel his fingers on the man’s neck and face already, and he prayed he could be quick and strong enough to take Omi’s eyes out before they tore him off the man. “What about the boy?” he said.