Shogun (6 page)

“There were Spanish ships south and north of us and nowhere else to run. Has your memory gone along with your wits? We had to sail west—it was our only chance.”

“I never saw enemy ships, Pilot. None of us did.”

“Come now, Jan,” van Nekk said wearily. “The Pilot did what he thought best. Of course the Spaniards were there.”

“Aye, that’s the truth, and we was a thousand leagues from friends and in enemy waters, by God!” Vinck spat. “That’s the God’s truth—and the God’s truth was we put it to a vote. We all said yes.”

“I didn’t.”

Sonk said, “No one asked me.”

“Oh, Christ Jesus!”

“Calm down, Johann,” van Nekk said, trying to ease the tension. “We’re the first ones to reach the Japans. Remember all the stories, eh? We’re rich if we keep our wits. We have trade goods and there’s gold here—there must be. Where else could we sell our cargo? Not there in the New World, hunted and harried! They were hunting us and the Spaniards knew we were off Santa Maria. We had to quit Chile and there was no escape back through the Strait—of course they’d be lying in wait for us, of course they would! No, here was our only chance and a good idea. Our cargo exchanged for spices and gold and silver, eh? Think of the profit—a thousandfold, that’s usual. We’re in the Spice Islands. You know the riches of the Japans and Cathay, you’ve heard about them forever. We all have. Why else did we all sign on? We’ll be rich, you’ll see!”

“We’re dead men, like all the others. We’re in the land of Satan.”

Vinck said angrily, “Shut your mouth, Roper! The Pilot did right. Not his fault the others died—not his fault. Men always die on these voyages.”

Jan Roper’s eyes were flecked, the pupils tiny. “Yes, God rest their souls. My brother was one.”

Blackthorne looked into the fanatic eyes, hating Jan Roper. Inside he was asking himself if he had really sailed west to elude the enemy ships. Or was it because he was the first English pilot through the Strait, first in position, ready and able to stab west and therefore first with the chance of circumnavigating?

Jan Roper hissed, “Didn’t the others die through your ambition, Pilot? God will punish you!”

“Now hold your tongue.” Blackthorne’s words were soft and final.

Jan Roper stared back with the same frozen hatchet face, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Good.” Blackthorne sat tiredly on the floor and rested against one of the uprights.

“What should we do, Pilot?”

“Wait and get fit. Their chief is coming soon—then we’ll get everything settled.”

Vinck was looking out into the garden at the samurai who sat motionless on his heels beside the gateway. “Look at that bastard.
Been there for hours, never moves, never says anything, doesn’t even pick his nose.”

“He’s been no trouble though, Johann. None at all,” van Nekk said.

“Yes, but all we’ve been doing is sleeping and fornicating and eating the swill.”

“Pilot, he’s only one man. We’re ten,” Ginsel said quietly.

“I’ve thought of that. But we’re not fit enough yet. It’ll take a week for the scurvy to go,” Blackthorne replied, disquieted. “There are too many of them aboard ship. I wouldn’t like to take on even one without a spear or gun. Are you guarded at night?”

“Yes. They change guard three or four times. Has anyone seen a sentry asleep?” van Nekk asked.

They shook their heads.

“We could be aboard tonight,” Jan Roper said. “With the help of God we’ll overpower the heathen and take the ship.”

“Clear the shit out of your ears! The pilot’s just got through telling you! Don’t you listen?” Vinck spat disgustedly.

“That’s right,” Pieterzoon, a gunner, agreed. “Stop hacking at old Vinck!”

Jan Roper’s eyes narrowed even more. “Look to your soul, Johann Vinck. And yours, Hans Pieterzoon. The Day of Judgment approaches.” He walked away and sat on the veranda.

Van Nekk broke the silence. “Everything is going to be all right. You’ll see.”

“Roper’s right. It’s greed that put us here,” the boy Croocq said, his voice quavering. “It’s God’s punishment that—”

“Stop it!”

The boy jerked. “Yes, Pilot. Sorry, but—well …” Maximilian Croocq was the youngest of them, just sixteen, and he had signed on for the voyage because his father had been captain of one of the ships and they were going to make their fortune. But he had seen his father die badly when they had sacked the Spanish town of Santa Magdellana in the Argentine. The plunder had been good and he had seen what rape was and he had tried it, hating himself, glutted by the blood smell and the killing. Later he had seen more of his friends die and the five ships became one and now he felt he was the oldest among them. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“How long have we been ashore, Baccus?” Blackthorne asked.

“This is the third day.” Van Nekk moved close again, squatting
on his haunches. “Don’t remember the arrival too clearly, but when I woke up the savages were all over the ship. Very polite and kind though. Gave us food and hot water. They took the dead away and put the anchors out. Don’t remember much but I think they towed us to a safe mooring. You were delirious when they carried you ashore. We wanted to keep you with us but they wouldn’t let us. One of them spoke a few words of Portuguese. He seemed to be the headman, he had gray hair. He didn’t understand ‘Pilot-Major’ but knew ‘Captain.’ It was quite clear he wanted our ‘Captain’ to have different quarters from us, but he said we shouldn’t worry because you’d be well looked after. Us too. Then he guided us here, they carried us mostly, and said we were to stay inside until
his
captain came. We didn’t want to let them take you but there was nothing we could do. Will you ask the headman about wine or brandy, Pilot?” Van Nekk licked his lips thirstily, then added, “Now that I think of it, he mentioned
‘daimyo’
too. What’s going to happen when the
daimyo
arrives?”

“Has anyone got a knife or a pistol?”

“No,” van Nekk said, scratching absently at the lice in his hair. “They took all our clothes away to clean them and kept the weapons. I didn’t think anything about it at the time. They took my keys too, as well as my pistol. I had all my keys on a ring. The strong room, the strongbox, and the magazine.”

“Everything’s locked tight aboard. No need to worry about that.”

“I don’t like not having my keys. Makes me very nervous. Damn my eyes, I could use a brandy right now. Even a flagon of ale.”

“Lord Jesus! The sameree cut him into pieces, did he?” Sonk said to no one in particular.

“For the love of God, shut your mouth. It’s ‘samurai.’ You’re enough to make a man shit himself,” Ginsel said.

“I hope that bastard priest doesn’t come here,” Vinck said.

“We’re safe in the good Lord’s hands.” Van Nekk was still trying to sound confident. “When the
daimyo
comes we’ll be released. We’ll get our ship back and our guns. You’ll see. We’ll sell all our goods and we’ll get back to Holland rich and safe having gone round the world—the first Dutchmen ever. The Catholics’ll go to hell and that’s the end of it.”

“No, it isn’t,” Vinck said. “Papists make my skin crawl. I can’t help it. That and the thought of the conquistadores. You think they’ll be here in strength, Pilot?”

“I don’t know. I’d think yes! I wish we had all our squadron here.”

“Poor bastards,” Vinck said. “At least we’re alive.”

Maetsukker said, “Maybe they’re back home. Maybe they turned back at the Magellan when the storms scattered us.”

“I hope you’re right,” Blackthorne said. “But I think they’re lost with all hands.”

Ginsel shuddered. “At least we’re alive.”

“With Papists here, and these heathens with their stinking tempers, I wouldn’t give an old whore’s crack for our lives.”

“Goddamn the day I left Holland,” Pieterzoon said. “Goddamn all grog! If I hadn’t been drunker than a fiddler’s bitch I’d still be heads down in Amsterdam with my old woman.”

“Damn what you like, Pieterzoon. But don’t damn liquor. It’s the stuff of life!”

“I’d say we’re in the sewer, up to our chins, and the tide’s coming in fast.” Vinck rolled his eyes. “Yes, very fast.”

“I never thought we’d reach land,” Maetsukker said. He looked like a ferret, except he had no teeth. “Never. Least of all the Japans. Lousy stinking Papists! We’ll never leave here alive! I wish we had some guns. What a rotten landfall! I didn’t mean anything, Pilot,” he said quickly as Blackthorne looked at him. “Just bad luck, that’s all.”

Later servants brought them food again. Always the same: vegetables—cooked and raw—with a little vinegar, fish soup, and the wheat or barley porridge. They all spurned the small pieces of raw fish and asked for meat and liquor. But they were not understood and then, near sunset, Blackthorne left. He had wearied of their fears and hates and obscenities. He told them that he would return after dawn.

The shops were busy on the narrow streets. He found his street and the gate of his house. The stains on the earth had been swept away and the body had vanished. It’s almost as though I dreamed the whole thing, he thought. The garden gate opened before he could put a hand on it.

The old gardener, still loinclothed although there was a chill on the wind, beamed and bowed.
“Konbanwa
.”

“Hello,” Blackthorne said without thinking. He walked up the steps, stopped, remembering his boots. He took them off and went barefoot onto the veranda and into the room. He crossed it into a corridor but could not find his room.

“Onna!” he called out.

An old woman appeared.
“Hai?”

“Where’s Onna?”

The old woman frowned and pointed to herself. “Onna!”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Blackthorne said irritably. “Where’s my room? Where’s Onna?” He slid open another latticed door. Four Japanese were seated on the floor around a low table, eating. He recognized one of them as the gray-haired man, the village headman, who had been with the priest. They all bowed. “Oh, sorry,” he said, and pulled the door to.

“Onna!” he called out.

The old woman thought a moment, then beckoned. He followed her into another corridor. She slid a door aside. He recognized his room from the crucifix. The quilts were already laid out neatly.

“Thank you,” he said, relieved. “Now fetch Onna!”

The old woman padded away. He sat down, his head and body aching, and wished there was a chair, wondering where they were kept. How to get aboard? How to get some guns? There must be a way. Feet padded back and there were three women now, the old woman, a young round-faced girl, and the middle-aged lady.

The old woman pointed at the girl, who seemed a little frightened. “Onna.”

“No.” Blackthorne got up ill-temperedly and jerked a finger at the middle-aged woman. “This is Onna, for God’s sake! Don’t you know your name? Onna! I’m hungry. Could I have some food?” He rubbed his stomach parodying hunger. They looked at each other. Then the middle-aged woman shrugged, said something that made the others laugh, went over to the bed, and began to undress. The other two squatted, wide-eyed and expectant.

Blackthorne was appalled. “What are you doing?”

“Ishimasho!
” she said, setting aside her wide waistband and opening her kimono. Her breasts were flat and dried up and her belly huge.

It was quite clear that she was going to get into the bed. He shook his head and told her to get dressed and took her arm and they all began chattering and gesticulating and the woman was becoming quite angry. She stepped out of her long underskirt and, naked, tried to get back into bed.

Their chattering stopped and they all bowed as the headman came quietly down the corridor.
“Nanda? Nanda?
” he asked.

The old woman explained what was the matter. “You want this
woman?” he asked incredulously in heavily accented, barely understandable Portuguese, motioning at the naked woman.

“No. No, of course not. I just wanted Onna to get me some food.” Blackthorne pointed impatiently at her. “Onna!”

“Onna
mean ‘woman.’” The Japanese motioned at all of them.
“Onna—onna—onna
. You want
onna?”

Blackthorne wearily shook his head. “No. No, thank you. I made a mistake. Sorry. What’s her name?”

“Please?”

“What’s her name?”

“Ah! Namu is Haku. Haku,” he said.

“Haku?”

“Hai
. Haku!”

“I’m sorry, Haku-san. Thought
onna
your name.”

The man explained to Haku and she was not at all pleased. But he said something and they all looked at Blackthorne and tittered behind their hands and left. Haku walked off naked, her kimono over her arm, with a vast amount of dignity.

“Thank you,” Blackthorne said, enraged at his own stupidity.

“This my house. My namu Mura.”

“Mura-san. Mine’s Blackthorne.”

“Please?”

“My namu. Blackthorne.”

“Ah! Berr—rakk—fon.” Mura tried to say it several times but could not. Eventually he gave up and continued to study the colossus in front of him. This was the first barbarian he had ever seen except for Father Sebastio, and the other priest, so many years ago. But anyway, he thought, the priests are dark-haired and dark-eyed and of normal height. But this man: tall and golden-haired and golden-bearded with blue eyes and a weird pallor to his skin where it is covered and redness where it is exposed. Astonishing! I thought
all
men had black hair and dark eyes.
We
all do. The Chinese do, and isn’t China the whole world, except for the land of the southern Portugee barbarians? Astonishing! And why does Father Sebastio hate this man so much? Because he’s a Satan worshiper? I wouldn’t think so, because Father Sebastio could cast out the devil if he wanted. Eeee, I’ve never seen the good Father so angry. Never. Astonishing!

Are blue eyes and golden hair the mark of Satan?

Mura looked up at Blackthorne and remembered how he had tried
to question him aboard the ship and then, when this Captain had become unconscious, he had decided to bring him to his own house because he was the leader and should have special consideration. They had laid him on the quilt and undressed him, more than just a little curious.