Shogun (65 page)

“And then we put to sea. For Yedo.”

“Why there? We were sailing for Macao,” Rodrigues replied, the picture of innocence.

“We’re taking Toranaga home to Yedo. First.”

“We’re what? But what about the galley?”

“She stays or she fights her way out.”

Rodrigues seemed to be even more surprised and looked at the galley, then at Mariko. He saw the accusation written in her eyes.

“
Matsu,”
the pilot told her quietly.

“What?” Father Alvito asked. “Patience? Why patience, Rodrigues?”

“Saying Hail Marys, Father. I was saying to the lady it teaches you patience.”

Ferriera was staring at the galley. “What’s our longboat doing there?”

“I sent the heretic back aboard.”

“You what?”

“I sent the Ingeles back aboard. What’s the problem, Captain-General? The Ingeles offended me so I threw the bugger overboard.
I’d have let him drown but he could swim so I sent the mate to pick him up and put him back aboard his ship as he seemed to be in Lord Toranaga’s favor. What’s wrong?”

“Fetch him back aboard.”

“I’ll have to send an armed boarding party, Captain-General. Is that what you want? He was cursing and heaping hellfire on us. He won’t come back willingly this time.”

“I want him back aboard.”

“What’s the problem? Didn’t you say the galley’s to stay and fight or whatever? So what? So the Ingeles is hip-deep in shit. Good. Who needs the bugger, anyway? Surely the Fathers’d prefer him out of their sight. Eh, Father?”

Dell’Aqua did not reply. Nor did Alvito. This disrupted the plan that Ferriera had formulated and had been accepted by them and by Toranaga: that the priests would go ashore at once to smooth over Ishido, Kiyama, and Onoshi, professing that they had believed Toranaga’s story about the pirates and did not know that he had “escaped” from the castle. Meanwhile the frigate would charge for the harbor mouth, leaving the galley to draw off the fishing boats. If there was an overt attack on the frigate, it would be beaten off with cannon, and the die cast.

“But the boats shouldn’t attack us,” Ferriera had reasoned. “They have the galley to catch. It will be your responsibility, Eminence, to persuade Ishido that we had no other choice. After all, Toranaga is President of the Regents. Finally, the heretic stays aboard.”

Neither of the priests had asked why. Nor had Ferriera volunteered his reason.

The Visitor put a gentle hand on the Captain-General and turned his back on the galley. “Perhaps it’s just as well the heretic’s there,” he said, and he thought, how strange are the ways of God.

No, Ferriera wanted to scream. I wanted to see him drown. A man overboard in the early dawn at sea—no trace, no witnesses, so easy. Toranaga would never be the wiser; a tragic accident, as far as he was concerned. And it was the fate Blackthorne deserved. The Captain-General also knew the horror of sea death to a pilot.

“
Nan ja?”
Toranaga asked.

Father Alvito explained that the pilot was on the galley and why. Toranaga turned to Mariko, who nodded and added what Rodrigues had said previously.

Toranaga went to the side of the ship and gazed into the darkness. More fishing boats were being launched from the north shore and the others would soon be in place. He knew that the Anjin-san was a political embarrassment and this was a simple way the gods had given him if he desired to be rid of the Anjin-san. Do I want that? Certainly the Christian priests will be vastly happier if the Anjin-san vanishes, he thought. And also Onoshi and Kiyama, who feared the man so much that either or both had mounted the assassination attempts. Why such fear?

It’s
karma
that the Anjin-san is on the galley now and not safely here.
Neh?
So the Anjin-san will drown with the ship, along with Yabu and the others and the guns, and that is also
karma
. The guns I can lose, Yabu I can lose. But the Anjin-san?

Yes.

Because I still have eight more of these strange barbarians in reserve. Perhaps their collective knowledge will equal or exceed that of this single man. The important thing is to be back in Yedo as quickly as possible to prepare for the war, which cannot be avoided. Kiyama and Onoshi? Who knows if they’ll support me. Perhaps they will, perhaps not. But a plot of land and some promises are nothing in the balance if the Christian weight is on my side in forty days.

“It’s
karma
, Tsukku-san.
Neh?”

“Yes, Sire.” Alvito glanced at the Captain-General, very satisfied. “Lord Toranaga suggests that nothing is done. It’s the will of God.”

“Is it?”

The drum on the galley began abruptly. The oars bit into the water with great strength.

“What, in the name of Christ, is he doing?” Ferriera bellowed.

And then, as they watched the galley pulling away from them, Toranaga’s pennant came fluttering down from the masthead.

Rodrigues said, “Looks like they’re telling every God-cursed fishing boat in the harbor that Lord Toranaga’s no longer aboard.”

“What’s he going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t you?” Ferriera asked.

“No. But if I was him I’d head for sea and leave us in the cesspit—or try to. The Ingeles has put the finger on us now. What’s it to be?”

“You’re ordered to Yedo.” The Captain-General wanted to add, if you ram the galley all the better, but he didn’t. Because Mariko was listening.

The priests thankfully went ashore in the longboat.

“All sails ho!” Rodrigues shouted, his leg paining and throbbing. “Sou’ by sou’west! All hands lay to!”

“Senhora, please tell Lord Toranaga he’d best go below. It’ll be safer,” Ferriera said.

“He thanks you and says he will stay here.”

Ferriera shrugged, went to the edge of the quarterdeck. “Prime all cannon. Load grape! Action stations!”

“
Isogi!”
Blackthorne shouted, urging the oarsmaster to increase the beat. He looked aft at the frigate that was bearing down on them, close-hauled now under full sail, then for’ard again, estimating the next tack that she must use. He wondered if he had judged right, for there was very little sea room here near the cliffs, barely a few yards between disaster and success. Because of the wind, the frigate had to tack to make the harbor mouth, while the galley could maneuver at its whim. But the frigate had the advantage of speed. And on the last tack Rodrigues had made it clear that the galley had better stay out of the way when the
Santa Theresa
needed sea room.

Yabu was chattering at him again but he paid no heed. “Don’t understand—
wakarimasen
, Yabu-san! Listen, Toranaga-sama said, me, Anjin-san,
ichi-ban ima!
I’m chief Captain-san now!
Wakarimasu ka
, Yabu-san?” He pointed the course on the compass to the Japanese captain, who gesticulated at the frigate, barely fifty yards aft now, overtaking them rapidly on another collision path.

“Hold your course, by God!” Blackthorne said, the breeze cooling his seasodden clothes, which chilled him but helped to clear his head. He checked the sky. No clouds were near the bright moon and the wind was fair. No danger there, he thought. God keep the moon bright till we’re through.

“Hey, Captain!” he called out in English, knowing it made no difference if he spoke English or Portuguese or Dutch or Latin because he was alone. “Send someone for saké! Saké!
Wakarimasu ka?”

“
Hai
, Anjin-san.”

A seaman was sent scurrying. As the man ran he looked over his shoulder, frightened by the size of the approaching frigate and her speed. Blackthorne held their course, trying to force the frigate to turn before she had gained all space to windward. But she never wavered and came directly at him. At the last second he swung out of her way and then, when her bowsprit was almost over their aft deck, he heard Rodrigues’ order, “Bear on the larboard tack! Let go staysails, and steady as she goes!” Then a shout at him in Spanish, “Thy mouth in the devil’s arse, Ingeles!”

“Thy mother was there first, Rodrigues!”

Then the frigate peeled off the wind to scud now for the far shore, where she would have to turn again to reach into the wind and tack for this side once more before she could turn a last time again and make for the harbor mouth.

For an instant the ships were so close that he could almost touch her, Rodrigues, Toranaga, Mariko, and the Captain-General swaying on the quarterdeck. Then the frigate was away and they were twisting in her wash.

“
Isogi, isogi
, by God!”

The rowers redoubled their efforts and with signs Blackthorne ordered more men on the oars until there were no reserves. He had to get to the mouth before the frigate or they were lost.

The galley was eating up the distance. But so was the frigate. At the far side of the harbor she spun like a dancer and he saw that Rodrigues had added topsails and topgallants.

“He’s as canny a bastard as any Portuguese born!”

The saké arrived but it was taken out of the seaman’s hands by the young woman who had helped Mariko and offered precariously to him. She had stayed gamely on deck, even though clearly out of her element. Her hands were strong, her hair well groomed, and her kimono rich, in good taste and neat. The galley lurched in the chop. The girl reeled and dropped the cup. Her face did not change but he saw the flush of shame.

“
Por nada,”
he said as she groped for it. “It doesn’t matter.
Namae ka?”

“Usagi Fujiko, Anjin-san.”

“Fujiko-san. Here, give it to me.
Dozo.”
He held out his hand and took the flask and drank directly from it, gulping the wine, eager to have its heat inside his body. He concentrated on the new course, skirting the shoals that Santiago, on Rodrigues’ orders, had told him
about. He rechecked the bearing from the headland that gave them a clean, hazardless run to the mouth while he finished the warmed wine, wondering in passing how it had been warmed, and why they always served it warm and in small quantities.

His head was clear now, and he felt strong enough, if he was careful. But he knew he had no reserves to draw upon, just as the ship had no reserves.

“Saké
dozo
, Fujiko-san.” He handed her the flask and forgot her.

On the windward tack the frigate made way too well and she passed a hundred yards ahead of them, bearing for the shore. He heard obscenities coming down on the wind and did not bother to reply, conserving his energy.

“
Isogi
, by God! We’re losing!”

The excitement of the race and of being alone again and in command—more by the strength of his will than by position—added to the rare privilege of having Yabu in his power, filled him with unholy glee. “If it wasn’t that the ship’d go down and me with her, I’d put her on the rocks just to see you drown, shit-face Yabu! For old Pieterzoon!”

But didn’t Yabu save Rodrigues when you couldn’t? Didn’t he charge the bandits when you were ambushed? And he was brave tonight. Yes, he’s a shit-face, but even so he’s a brave shit-face and that’s the truth.

The flask of saké was offered again. “
Domo,”
he said.

The frigate was keeled over, close-hauled and greatly pleasing to him. “I couldn’t do better,” he said aloud to the wind. “But if I had her, I’d go through the boats and out to sea and never come back. I’d sail her home, somehow, and leave the Japans to the Japanese and to the pestilential Portuguese.” He saw Yabu and the captain staring at him. “I wouldn’t really, not yet. There’s a Black Ship to catch and plunder to be had. And revenge, eh, Yabu-san?”

“
Nan desu ka
, Anjin-san?
Nan ja?”

“
Ichi-ban!
Number one!” he replied, waving at the frigate. He drained the flask. Fujiko took it from him.

“Saké, Anjin-san?”

“
Domo, iyé
!”

The two ships were very near the massed fishing boats now, the galley heading straight for the pass that had been deliberately left between them, the frigate on the last reach and turning for the harbor mouth. Here the wind freshened as the protecting headlands fell away,
open sea half a mile ahead. Gusts billowed the frigate’s sails, the shrouds crackling like pistol shots, froth now at her bow and in her wake.

The rowers were bathed with sweat and flagging. One man dropped. And another. The fifty-odd ronin-samurai were already in position. Ahead, archers in the fishing boats either side of the narrow channel were arming their bows. Blackthorne saw small braziers in many of the boats and he knew that the arrows would be fire arrows when they came.

He had prepared for battle as best he could. Yabu had understood that they would have to fight, and had understood fire arrows immediately. Blackthorne had erected protective wooden bulkheads around the helm. He had broken open some of the crates of muskets and had set those who could to arming them with powder and with shot. And he had brought several small kegs of powder up onto the quarterdeck and fused them.

When Santiago, the first mate, had helped him aboard the longboat, he had told him that Rodrigues was going to help, with God’s good grace.

“Why?” he had asked.

“My Pilot says to tell you that he had you thrown overboard to sober you up, senhor.”

“Why?”

“Because, he said to tell you, Senhor Pilot, because there was danger aboard the
Santa Theresa
, danger for you.”

“What danger?”

“You are to fight your own way out, he tells you, if you can. But he will help.”

“Why?”

“For the Madonna’s sweet sake, hold your heretic tongue and listen, I’ve little time.”

Then the mate had told him about the shoals and the bearings and the way of the channel and the plan. And given him two pistols. “How good a shot are you, my Pilot asks.”

“Poor,” he had lied.

“Go with God, my Pilot said to tell you finally.”

“And him—and you.”

“For me I assign thee to hell!”

“Thy sister!”

Blackthorne had fused the kegs in case the cannon began and there
was no plan, or if the plan proved false, and also against encroaching hostiles. Even such a little keg, the fuse alight, floated against the side of the frigate would sink her as surely as a seventy-gun broadside. It doesn’t matter how small the keg, he thought, providing it guts her.