Shogun (67 page)

He stretched luxuriously, then took the cup of cha Mariko offered.

“Thank you. That’s delicious. How’s your arm?”

“Much better, thank you.” Mariko flexed it to show him. “It was just a flesh wound.”

“You’re looking better, Mariko-san.”

“Yes, I’m better now.”

When she had come back aboard at dawn with Toranaga she had
been near fainting. “Better to stay aloft,” he had told her. “The sickness will leave you faster.”

“My Master asks—asks why the pistol shot?”

“It was just a game pilots play,” he had told her.

“My Master compliments you on your seamanship.”

“We were lucky. The moon helped. And the crew were marvelous. Mariko-san, would you ask the Captain-san if he knows these waters? Sorry, but tell Toranaga-sama I can’t keep awake much longer. Or can we hove to for an hour or so out to sea? I’ve got to sleep.”

He vaguely remembered her telling him that Toranaga said he could go below, that the Captain-san was quite capable as they would be staying in coastal waters and not going out to sea.

Blackthorne stretched again and opened a cabin porthole. A rocky shore was two hundred-odd yards away. “Where are we?”

“Off the coast of Totomi Province, Anjin-san. Lord Toranaga wanted to swim and to rest the oarsmen for a few hours. We’ll be at Anjiro tomorrow.”

“The fishing village? That’s impossible. It’s near noon and at dawn we were off Osaka. It’s impossible!”

“Ah, that was yesterday, Anjin-san. You’ve slept a day and a night and half another day,” she replied. “Lord Toranaga said to let you sleep. Now he thinks a swim would be good to wake you up. After food.”

Food was two bowls of rice and charcoal-roasted fish with the dark, salt-bitter, vinegar-sweet sauce that she had told him was made from fermented beans.

“Thank you—yes, I’d like a swim. Almost thirty-six hours? No wonder I feel fine.” He took the tray from the maid, ravenous. But he did not eat at once. “Why is she afraid?” he asked.

“She’s not, Anjin-san. Just a little nervous. Please excuse her. She’s never seen a foreigner close to before.”

“Tell her when the moon’s full, barbarians sprout horns and fire comes out of our mouths like dragons.”

Mariko laughed. “I certainly will not.” She pointed to the sea table. “There is tooth powder and a brush and water and fresh towels.” Then said in Latin, “It pleasures me to see thou art well. It is as was related on the march, thou hast great bravery.”

Their eyes locked and then the moment was allowed to pass. She bowed politely. The maid bowed. The door closed behind them.

Don’t think about her, he ordered himself. Think about Toranaga
or Anjiro. Why do we stop at Anjiro tomorrow? To off-load Yabu? Good riddance!

Omi will be at Anjiro. What about Omi?

Why not ask Toranaga for Omi’s head? He owes you a favor or two. Or why not ask to fight Omi-san. How? With pistols or with swords? You’d have no chance with a sword and it’d be murder if you had a gun. Better to do nothing and wait. You’ll have a chance soon and then you’ll be revenged on both of them. You bask in Toranaga’s favor now. Be patient. Ask yourself what you need from him. Soon we’ll be in Yedo, so you’ve not much time. What about Toranaga?

Blackthorne was using the chopsticks as he had seen the men in the prison use them, lifting the bowl of rice to his lips and pushing the tacky rice from the lip of the bowl into his mouth with the sticks. The pieces of fish were more difficult. He was still not deft enough, so he used his fingers, glad to eat alone, knowing that to eat with his fingers would be very impolite in front of Mariko or Toranaga or any Japanese.

When every morsel was gone he was still famished.

“Got to get more food,” he said aloud. “Jesus God in heaven, I’d like some fresh bread and fried eggs and butter and cheese….”

He came on deck. Almost everyone was naked. Some of the men were drying themselves, others sunbathing, and a few were leaping overboard. In the sea alongside the ship, samurai and seamen were swimming or splashing as children would.

“
Konnichi wa
, Anjin-san.”

“
Konnichi wa
, Toranaga-sama,” he said.

Toranaga, quite naked, was coming up the gangway that had been let down to the sea. “
Sonata wa oyogitamo ka?”
he said, motioning at the sea, slapping the water off his belly and his shoulders, warm under the bright sun.

“
Hai
, Toranaga-sama,
domo,”
Blackthorne said, presuming that he was being asked if he wanted to swim.

Again Toranaga pointed at the sea and spoke shortly, then called Mariko to interpret. Mariko walked down from the poopdeck, shielding her head with a crimson sunshade, her informal white cotton kimono casually belted.

“Toranaga-sama says you look very rested, Anjin-san. The water’s invigoration.”

“Invigorating,” he said, correcting her politely. “Yes.”

“Ah, thank you—invigorating. He says please swim then.”

Toranaga was leaning carelessly against the gunwale, wiping the water out of his ears with a small towel, and when his left ear would not clear, he hung his head over and hopped on his left heel until it did. Blackthorne saw that Toranaga was very muscular and very taut, apart from his belly. Ill at ease, very conscious of Mariko, he stripped off his shirt and his codpiece and trousers until he was equally naked.

“Lord Toranaga asks if all Englishmen are as hairy as you? The hair so fair?”

“Some are,” he said.

“We—our men don’t have hair on their chests or arms like you do. Not very much. He says you’ve a very good build.”

“So has he. Please thank him.” Blackthorne walked away from her to the head of the gangplank, aware of her and the young woman, Fujiko, who was kneeling on the poop under a yellow parasol, a maid beside her, also watching him. Then, unable to contain his dignity enough to walk naked all the way down to the sea, he dived over the side into the pale blue water. It was a fine dive and the sea chill reached into him exhilaratingly. The sandy bottom was three fathoms down, seaweed waving, multitudes of fish unfrightened by the swimmers. Near the seabed his plummeting stopped and he twisted and played with the fish, then surfaced and began a seemingly lazy, easy, but very fast overarm stroke for the shore that Alban Caradoc had taught him.

The small bay was desolate: many rocks, a tiny pebbled shore, and no sign of life. Mountains climbed a thousand feet to a blue, measureless sky.

He lay on a rock sunning himself. Four samurai had swum with him and were not far away. They smiled and waved. Later he swam back, and they followed. Toranaga was still watching him.

He came up on deck. His clothes were gone. Fujiko and Mariko and two maids were still there. One of the maids bowed and offered him a ridiculously small towel, which he took and began to dry himself with, turning uneasily into the gunwale.

I order you to be at ease, he told himself. You’re at ease naked in a locked room with Felicity, aren’t you? It’s only in public when women are around—when she’s around—that you’re embarrassed. Why? They don’t notice nakedness and that’s totally sensible. You’re in Japan. You’re to do as they do. You will be like them and act like a king.

“Lord Toranaga says you swim very well. Would you teach him that stroke?” Mariko was saying.

“I’d be glad to,” he said and forced himself to turn around and lean as Toranaga was leaning. Mariko was smiling up at him—looking so pretty, he thought.

“The way you dived into the sea. We’ve—we’ve never seen that before. We always jump. He wants to learn how to do that.”

“Now?”

“Yes, please.”

“I can teach him—at least, I can try.”

A maid was holding a cotton kimono for Blackthorne so, gratefully, he slipped it on, tying it with the belt. Now, completely relaxed, he explained how to dive, how to tuck your head between your arms and spring up and out but to beware of belly flopping.

“It’s best to start from the foot of the gangway and sort of fall in head first to begin with, without jumping or running. That’s the way we teach children.”

Toranaga listened and asked questions and then, when he was satisfied, he said through Mariko, “Good. I think I understand.” He walked to the head of the gangway. Before Blackthorne could stop him, Toranaga had launched himself toward the water, fifteen feet below. The belly flop was vicious. No one laughed. Toranaga spluttered back to the deck and tried again. Again he landed flat. Other samurai were equally unsuccessful.

“It’s not easy,” Blackthorne said. “It took me a long time to learn. Give it a rest and we’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Lord Toranaga says, ‘Tomorrow is tomorrow. Today I will learn how to dive.’”

Blackthorne put his kimono aside and demonstrated again. Samurai aped him. Again they failed. So did Toranaga. Six times.

After another demonstration dive Blackthorne scrambled onto the foot of the gangplank and saw Mariko among them, nude, readying to launch herself into space. Her body was exquisite, the bandage on her upper arm fresh. “Wait, Mariko-san! Better to try from here. The first time.”

“Very well, Anjin-san.”

She walked down to him, the tiny crucifix enhancing her nudity. He showed her how to bend and to fall forward into the sea, catching her by the waist to turn her over so that her head went in first.

Then Toranaga tried near the waterline and was moderately successful.
Mariko tried again and the touch of her skin warmed Blackthorne and he clowned momentarily and fell into the water, directing them from there until he had cooled off. Then he ran up to the deck and stood on the gunwale and showed them a deadman’s dive, which he thought might be easier, knowing that it was vital for Toranaga to succeed. “But you’ve got to keep rigid,
hai?
Like a sword. Then you cannot fail.” He fell outward. The dive was clean and he trod water and waited.

Several samurai came forward but Toranaga waved them aside. He held up his arms stiffly, his backbone straight. His chest and loins were scarlet from the belly flops. Then he let himself fall forward as Blackthorne had shown. His head went into the water first and his legs tumbled over him, but it was a dive and the first successful dive of any of them and a roar of approval greeted him when he surfaced. He did it again, this time better. Other men followed, some successful, others not. Then Mariko tried.

Blackthorne saw the taut little breasts and tiny waist, flat stomach and curving legs. A flicker of pain went across her face as she lifted her arms above her head. But she held herself like an arrow and fell bravely outward. She speared the water cleanly. Almost no one except him noticed.

“That was a fine dive. Really fine,” he said, giving her a hand to lift her easily out of the water onto the gangway platform. “You should stop now. You might open up the cut on your arm.”

“Yes, thank you, Anjin-san.” She stood beside him, barely reaching his shoulder, very pleased with herself. “That’s a rare sensation, the falling outward and the having to stay stiff, and most of all, the having to dominate your fear. Yes, that was a very rare sensation indeed.” She walked up the companionway and put on the kimono that the maid held out for her. Then, drying her face delicately, she went below.

Christ Jesus, that’s much woman, he thought.

That sunset Toranaga sent for Blackthorne. He was sitting on the poopdeck on clean futons near a small charcoal brazier upon which small pieces of aromatic wood were smoking. They were used to perfume the air and keep away the dusk gnats and mosquitoes. His kimono was pressed and neat, and the huge, winglike shoulders of the starched overmantle gave him a formidable presence. Yabu, too, was formally dressed, and Mariko. Fujiko was also there. Twenty
samurai sat silently on guard. Flares were set into stands and the galley still swung calmly at anchor in the bay. “Saké, Anjin-san?”

“
Domo
, Toranaga-sama.” Blackthorne bowed and accepted the small cup from Fujiko, lifted it in toast to Toranaga and drained it. The cup was immediately refilled. Blackthorne was wearing a Brown uniform kimono and it felt easier and freer than his own clothes.

“Lord Toranaga says we’re staying here tonight. Tomorrow we arrive at Anjiro. He would like to hear more about your country and the world outside.”

“Of course. What would he like to know? It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?” Blackthorne settled himself comfortably, aware of her femininity. Too aware. Strange, I’m more conscious of her now that she’s clothed than when she wore nothing.

“Yes, very. Soon it will be humid, Anjin-san. Summer is not a good time.” She told Toranaga what she had said. “My Master says to tell you that Yedo is marshy. The mosquitoes are bad in summer, but spring and autumn are beautiful—yes, truly the birth and the dying seasons of the year are beautiful.”

“England’s temperate. The winter’s bad perhaps one winter in seven. And the summer also. Famine about once in six years, though sometimes we get two bad years in a row.”

“We have famine too. All famine is bad. How is it in your country now?”

“We’ve had bad harvests three times in the last ten years and no sun to ripen the corn. But that’s the Hand of the Almighty. Now England’s very strong. We’re prosperous. Our people work hard. We make all our own cloth, all arms—most of the woolen cloth of Europe. A few silks come from France but the quality’s poor and they’re only for the very rich.”

Blackthorne decided not to tell them about plague or the riots or insurrections caused by enclosing the common lands, and the drift of peasants to towns and to cities. Instead he told them about the good kings and queens, sound leaders and wise parliaments and successful wars.

“Lord Toranaga wants to be quite clear. You claim only sea power protects you from Spain and Portugal?”

“Yes. That alone. Command of our seas keeps us free. You’re an island nation too, just like us. Without command of your seas, aren’t you also defenseless against an outside enemy?”

“My Master agrees with you.”

“Ah, you’ve been invaded too?” Blackthorne saw a slight frown as she turned to Toranaga and he reminded himself to confine himself to answers and not questions.