Shogun (39 page)

Blackthorne gathered his kimono around him and sat on the cushion that had been placed on the sand below and in front of them.
“Gomen
nasai
, Toranaga-sama,
nihon go ga hanase-masen. Tsuyaku go imasu ka?”

“I am your interpreter, senhor,” Mariko said at once, in almost flawless Portuguese. “But you speak Japanese?”

“No, senhorita, just a few words or phrases,” Blackthorne replied, taken aback. He had been expecting Father Alvito to be the interpreter, and Toranaga to be accompanied by samurai and perhaps the
daimyo
Yabu. But no samurai were near, though many ringed the garden.

“My Lord Toranaga asks where—First, perhaps I should ask if you prefer to speak Latin?”

“Whichever you wish, senhorita.” Like any educated man, Blackthorne could read, write, and speak Latin, because Latin was the only language of learning throughout the civilized world.

Who is this woman? Where did she learn such perfect Portuguese? And Latin? Where else but from the Jesuits, he thought. In one of their schools. Oh, they’re so clever! The first thing they do is build a school.

It was only seventy years ago that Ignatius Loyola had formed the Society of Jesus and now their schools, the finest in Christendom, were spread across the world and their influence bolstered or destroyed kings. They had the ear of the Pope. They had halted the tide of the Reformation and were now winning back huge territories for their Church.

“We will speak Portuguese then,” she was saying. “My Master wishes to know where you learned your ‘few words and phrases’?”

“There was a monk in the prison, senhorita, a Franciscan monk, and he taught me. Things like, ‘food, friend, bath, go, come, true, false, here, there, I, you, please, thank you, want, don’t want, prisoner, yes, no,’ and so on. It’s only a beginning, unfortunately. Would you please tell Lord Toranaga that I’m better prepared now to answer his questions, to help, and more than a little pleased to be out of prison. For which I thank him.”

Blackthorne watched as she turned and spoke to Toranaga. He knew that he would have to speak simply, preferably in short sentences, and be careful because, unlike the priest who interpreted simultaneously, this woman waited till he had finished, then gave a synopsis, or a version of what was said—the usual problem of all except the finest interpreters, though even they, as with the Jesuit, allowed their own personalities to influence what was said, voluntarily or involuntarily. The bath and massage and food and two hours of sleep had immeasurably
refreshed him. The bath attendants, all women of girth and strength, had pummeled him and shampooed his hair, braiding it in a neat queue, and the barber had trimmed his beard. He had been given a clean loincloth and kimono and sash, and tabi and thongs for his feet. The futons on which he had slept had been so clean, like the room. It had all seemed dreamlike and, waking from dreamlessness, he had wondered momentarily which was the dream, this or the prison.

He had waited impatiently, hoping that he would be guided again to Toranaga, planning what to say and what to reveal, how to outwit Father Alvito and how to gain ascendance over him. And over Toranaga. For he knew, beyond all doubt, because of what Friar Domingo had told him about the Portuguese, and Japanese politics and trade, that he could now help Toranaga, who, in return, could easily give him the riches he desired.

And now, with no priest to fight, he felt even more confident. I need just a little luck and patience.

Toranaga was listening intently to the doll-like interpreter.

Blackthorne thought, I could pick her up with one hand and if I put both hands around her waist, my fingers would touch. How old would she be? Perfect! Married? No wedding ring. Ah, that’s interesting. She’s wearing no jewelry of any kind. Except the silver pins in her hair. Neither is the other woman, the fat one.

He searched his memory. The other two women in the village had worn no jewelry either, and he had not seen any on any of Mura’s household. Why?

And who’s the fat woman? Toranaga’s wife? Or the boy’s nursemaid? Would the lad be Toranaga’s son? Or grandson, perhaps? Friar Domingo had said that Japanese had only one wife at one time but as many consorts—legal mistresses—as they wished.

Was the interpreter Toranaga’s consort?

What would it be like to have such a woman in bed? I’d be afraid of crushing her. No, she wouldn’t break. There are women in England almost as small. But not like her.

The boy was small and straight and round-eyed, his full black hair tied into a short queue, his pate unshaven. His curiosity seemed enormous.

Without thinking, Blackthorne winked. The boy jumped, then laughed and interrupted Mariko and pointed and spoke out, and they listened indulgently and no one hushed him. When he had finished, Toranaga spoke briefly to Blackthorne.

“Lord Toranaga asks why did you do that, senhor?”

“Oh, just to amuse the lad. He’s a child like any, and children in my country would usually laugh if you did that. My son must be about his age now. My son’s seven.”

“The Heir is seven,” Mariko said after a pause, then translated what he had said.

“Heir? Does that mean the boy’s Lord Toranaga’s only son?” Blackthorne asked.

“Lord Toranaga has instructed me to say that you will please confine yourself to answering questions only, for the moment.” Then she added, “I’m sure, if you are patient, Pilot-Captain B’ackthon, that you’ll be given an opportunity to ask anything you wish later.”

“Very well.”

“As your name is very hard to say, senhor, for we do not have the sounds to pronounce it—may I, for Lord Toranaga, use your Japanese name, Anjin-san?”

“Of course.” Blackthorne was going to ask hers but he remembered what she had said and reminded himself to be patient.

“Thank you. My Lord asks, do you have any other children?”

“A daughter. She was born just before I left my home in England. So she’s about two now.”

“You have one wife or many?”

“One. That’s our custom. Like the Portuguese and Spanish. We don’t have consorts—formal consorts.”

“Is this your first wife, senhor?”

“Yes.”

“Please, how old are you?”

“Thirty-six.”

“Where in England do you live?”

“On the outskirts of Chatham. That’s a small port near London.”

“London is your chief city?”

“Yes.”

“He asks, what languages do you speak?”

“English, Portuguese, Spanish, Dutch, and of course, Latin.”

“What is ‘Dutch’?”

“It’s a language spoken in Europe, in the Netherlands. It’s very similar to German.”

She frowned. “Dutch is a heathen language? German too?”

“Both are non-Catholic countries,” he said carefully.

“Excuse me, isn’t that the same as heathen?”

“No, senhorita. Christianity is split in two distinct and very separate religions. Catholicism and Protestantism. There are two versions of Christianity. The sect in Japan is Catholic. At the moment both sects are very hostile to each other.” He marked her astonishment and felt Toranaga’s growing impatience at being left out of the conversation. Be careful, he cautioned himself. She’s certainly Catholic. Lead up to things. And be simple. “Perhaps Lord Toranaga doesn’t wish to discuss religion, senhorita, as it was partially covered in our first meeting.”

“You are a Protestant Christian?”

“Yes.”

“And Catholic Christians are your enemies?”

“Most would consider me heretic and their enemy, yes.”

She hesitated, turned to Toranaga and spoke at length.

There were many guards around the perimeter of the garden. All well away, all Browns. Then Blackthorne noticed ten Grays sitting in a neat group in the shade, all eyes on the boy. What significance has that? he wondered.

Toranaga was cross-questioning Mariko, then spoke directly at Blackthorne.

“My Lord wishes to know about you and your family,” Mariko began. “About your country, its queen and previous rulers, habits, customs, and history. Similarly about all other countries, particularly Portugal and Spain. All about the world you live in. About your ships, weapons, foods, trade. About your wars and battles and how to navigate a ship, how you guided your ship and what happened on the voyage. He wants to understand—Excuse me, why do you laugh?”

“Only because, senhorita, that seems to be just about everything I know.”

“That is precisely what my Master wishes. ‘Precisely’ is the correct word?”

“Yes, senhorita. May I compliment you on your Portuguese, which is flawless.”

Her fan fluttered a little. “Thank you, senhor. Yes, my Master wants to learn the
truth
about everything, what is fact and what would be your opinion.”

“I’d be glad to tell him. It might take a little time.”

“My Master has the time, he says.”

Blackthorne looked at Toranaga.
“Wakarimasu.”

“If you will excuse me, senhor, my Master orders me to say your accent is a little wrong.” Mariko showed him how to say it and he
repeated it and thanked her. “I am Senhora Mariko Buntaro, not senhorita.”

“Yes, senhora.” Blackthorne glanced at Toranaga. “Where would he like me to begin?”

She asked him. A fleeting smile sped across Toranaga’s strong face. “He says, at the beginning.”

Blackthorne knew that this was another trial. What, out of all the limitless possibilities, should he start with? Whom should he talk to? To Toranaga, the boy, or the woman? Obviously, if only men had been present, to Toranaga. But now? Why were the women and the boy present? That must have significance.

He decided to concentrate on the boy and the women. “In ancient times my country was ruled by a great king who had a magic sword called Excalibur and his queen was the most beautiful woman in the land. His chief counselor was a wizard, Merlin, and the king’s name was Arthur,” he began confidently, telling the legend that his father used to tell so well in the mists of his youth. “King Arthur’s capital was called Camelot and it was a happy time of no wars and good harvests and …” Suddenly he realized the enormity of his mistake. The kernel of the story was about Guinevere and Lancelot, an adulterous queen and a faithless vassal, about Mordred, Arthur’s illegitimate son, who treacherously goes to war against his father, and about a father who kills this son in battle, only to be mortally wounded by him. Oh, Jesus God, how could I be so stupid? Isn’t Toranaga like a great king? Aren’t these his ladies? Isn’t that his son?

“Are you sick, senhor?”

“No—no, I’m sorry—it was just …”

“You were saying, senhor, about this king and the good harvest?”

“Yes. It … like most countries, our past is clouded with myths and legends, most of which are unimportant,” he said lamely, trying to gain time.

She stared at him perplexed. Toranaga’s eyes became more piercing and the boy yawned.

“You were saying, senhor?”

“I—well—” Then he had a flash of inspiration. “Perhaps the best thing I could do is draw a map of the world, senhora, as we know it,” he said in a rush. “Would you like me to do that?”

She translated this and he saw a glimmer of interest from Toranaga, nothing from the boy or the women. How to involve them?

“My Master says yes. I will send for paper—”

“Thank you. But this will do for the moment. Later, if you’ll give me some writing materials I can draw an accurate one.”

Blackthorne got off his cushion and knelt. With his finger he began to draw a crude map in the sand, upside down so that they could see better. “The earth’s round, like an orange, but this map is like its skin, cut off in ovals, north to south, laid flat and stretched a bit at the top and bottom. A Dutchman called Mercator invented the way to do this accurately twenty years ago. It’s the first accurate world map. We can even navigate with it—or his globes.” He had sketched the continents boldly. “This is north and this south, east and west. Japan is here, my country’s on the other side of the world—there. This is all unknown and unexplored …” His hand eliminated everything in North America north of a line from Mexico to Newfoundland, everything in South America apart from Peru and a narrow strip of coast land around that continent, then everything north and east of Norway, everything east of Muscovy, all Asia, all inland Africa, everything south of Java and the tip of South America. “We know the coastlines, but little else. The interiors of Africa, the Americas, and Asia are almost entirely mysteries.” He stopped to let her catch up.

She was translating more easily now and he felt their interest growing. The boy stirred and moved a little closer.

“The Heir wishes to know where we are on the map.”

“Here. This is Cathay, China, I think. I don’t know how far we are off the coast. It took me two years to sail from here to here.” Toranaga and the fat woman craned to see better.

“The Heir says but why are we so small on your map?”

“It’s just a scale, senhora. On this continent, from Newfoundland here, to Mexico here, is almost a thousand leagues, each of three miles. From here to Yedo is about a hundred leagues.”

There was a silence, then they talked amongst themselves.

“Lord Toranaga wishes you to show him on the map how you came to Japan.”

“This way. This is Magellan’s Pass—or Strait—here, at the tip of South America. It’s called that after the Portuguese navigator who discovered it, eighty years ago. Since then the Portuguese and Spanish have kept the way secret, for their exclusive use. We were the first outsiders through the Pass. I had one of their secret rutters, a type of map, but even so, I still had to wait six months to get through because the winds were against us.”

She translated what he had said. Toranaga looked up, disbelieving.

“My Master says you are mistaken. All bar—all Portuguese come from the south. That is their route, the only route.”

“Yes. It’s true the Portuguese favor that way—the Cape of Good Hope, we call it—because they have dozens of forts all along these coasts—Africa and India and the Spice Islands—to provision in and winter in. And their galleon-warships patrol and monopolize the sea lanes. However, the Spanish use Magellan’s Pass to get to their Pacific American colonies, and to the Philippines, or they cross here, at the narrow isthmus of Panama, going overland to avoid months of travel. For us it was safer to sail via Magellan’s Strait, otherwise we’d have had to run the gauntlet of all those enemy Portuguese forts. Please tell Lord Toranaga I know the position of many of them now. Most employ Japanese troops, by the way,” he added with emphasis. “The friar who gave me the information in the prison was Spanish and hostile to the Portuguese and hostile to all Jesuits.”