Shogun (52 page)

“Five or fifty, it makes no difference! This insult is intol—”

“Insult? My son means no insult. He’s following orders agreed by his liege Lord and by you. Five men. Five!” The word was an order and Hiro-matsu turned his back on Ishido and looked at his son. “The Lord Ishido does us honor by wishing to pay respect to the Lady Kiritsubo.”

The old man’s sword was two inches out of its scabbard and no one was sure if it was to slash at Ishido if the fight began or to hack off his son’s head if he pointed the arrow. All knew that there was no affection between father and son, only a mutual respect for the other’s viciousness. “Well, my son, what do you say to the Commander of the Heir’s Bodyguard?”

The sweat was running down Buntaro’s face. After a moment he stepped aside and eased the tension off the bow. But he kept the arrow poised.

Many times Ishido had seen Buntaro in the competition lists firing arrows at two hundred paces, six arrows launched before the first hit the target, all equally accurate. He would happily have ordered the attack now and obliterated these two, the father and son, and all the rest. But he knew it would be the act of a fool to start with them and not with Toranaga, and, in any event, perhaps when the real war came Hiro-matsu would be tempted to leave Toranaga and fight with him. The Lady Ochiba had said she would approach old Iron Fist when the time came. She had sworn that he would never forsake the Heir, that she would weld Iron Fist to her, away from Toranaga, perhaps even get him to assassinate his master and so avoid any conflict. What hold, what secret, what knowledge does she have over him? Ishido asked himself again. He had ordered Lady Ochiba to be spirited out of Yedo, if it was possible, before the Regents’ meeting. Her life would not be worth a grain of rice after Toranaga’s impeachment—which
all the other Regents had agreed upon. Impeachment and immediate seppuku, forced if need be. If she escapes, good. If not, never mind. The Heir will rule in eight years.

He strode through the gateway into the garden, Hiro-matsu and Yabu accompanying him. Five guards followed. He bowed politely and wished Kiritsubo well. Then, satisfied that all was as it should be, he turned and left with all his men.

Hiro-matsu exhaled and scratched his piles. “You’d better leave now, Yabu-san. That rice maggot’ll give you no more trouble.”

“Yes. At once.”

Kiri kerchiefed the sweat off her brow. “He’s a devil
kami!
I’m afraid for our Master.” The tears began to flow. “I don’t want to leave!”

“No harm will come to Lord Toranaga, I promise you, Lady,” Hiro-matsu said. “You must go. Now!”

Kiri tried to stifle her sobs and unloosed the thick veil that hung from the brim of her wide hat. “Oh, Yabu-sama, would you escort Lady Sazuko inside? Please?”

“Of course.”

Lady Sazuko bowed and hurried off, Yabu following. The girl ran up the steps. As she neared the top she slipped and fell.

“The baby!” Kiri shrieked. “Is she hurt?”

All their eyes flashed to the prostrate girl. Mariko ran for her but Yabu reached her first. He picked her up. Sazuko was more startled than hurt. “I’m all right,” she said, a little breathlessly. “Don’t worry, I’m perfectly all right. It was foolish of me.”

When he was sure, Yabu walked back to the forecourt preparing for instant departure.

Mariko came back to the gateway, greatly relieved. Blackthorne was gaping at the garden.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said after a pause. “What did Lady Kiritsubo shout out?”

“‘The baby! Is she hurt?’ The Lady Sazuko’s with child,” she explained. “We were all afraid the fall might have hurt her.”

“Toranaga-sama’s child?”

“Yes,” Mariko said, looking back at the litter.

Kiri was inside the closed translucent curtains now, the veil loosed. Poor woman, Mariko thought, knowing she was only trying to hide the tears. I would be equally terrified to leave my Lord, if I were she.

Her eyes went to Sazuko, who waved once more from the top of the steps, then went inside. The iron door clanged after her. That sounded like a death knell, Mariko thought. Will we ever see them again?

“What did Ishido want?” Blackthorne asked.

“He was—I don’t know the correct word. He was investigating—making a tour of inspection without warning.”

“Why?”

“He’s Commander of the Castle,” she said, not wishing to tell the real reason.

Yabu was shouting orders at the head of the column and set off. Mariko got into her litter, leaving the curtains partially open. Buntaro motioned Blackthorne to move aside. He obeyed.

They waited for Kiri’s litter to pass. Blackthorne stared at the half-seen, shrouded figure, hearing the muffled sobs. The two frightened maids, Asa and Sono, walked alongside. Then he glanced back a last time. Hiro-matsu was standing alone beside the little hut, leaning on his sword. Now the garden was shut from his view as samurai closed the huge fortified door. The great wooden bar fell into place. There were no guards in the forecourt now. They were all on the battlements.

“What’s going on?” Blackthorne asked.

“Please, Anjin-san?”

“It looks like they’re under siege. Browns against the Grays. Are they expecting trouble? More trouble?”

“Oh, so sorry. It’s normal to close the doors at night,” Mariko said.

He began to walk beside her as her litter moved off, Buntaro and the remainder of the rear guard taking up their station behind him. Blackthorne was watching the litter ahead, the swaying gait of the bearers and the misted figure inside the curtains. He was greatly unsettled though he tried to hide it. When Kiritsubo had suddenly shrieked, he had looked at her instantly. Everyone else was looking at the prostrate girl on the staircase. His impulse was to look over there as well but he saw Kiritsubo suddenly scuttle with surprising speed inside the little hut. For a moment he thought his eyes were playing him tricks because in the night her dark cloak and dark kimono and dark hat and dark veil made her almost invisible. He watched as the figure vanished for a moment, then reappeared, darted into the litter, and jerked the curtains closed. For an instant their eyes met. It was Toranaga.

The little cortege surrounding the two litters went slowly through the maze of the castle and through the continual checkpoints. Each time there were formal bows, the documents were meticulously examined afresh, a new captain and group of escorting Grays took over, and then they were passed. At each checkpoint Blackthorne watched with ever increasing misgivings as the captain of the guard came close to scrutinize the drawn curtains of Kiritsubo’s litter. Each time the man bowed politely to the half-seen figure, hearing the muffled sobs, and in the course of time, waved them on again.

Who else knows, Blackthorne was asking himself desperately. The maids must know—that would explain why they’re so frightened. Hiro-matsu certainly must have known, and Lady Sazuko, the decoy, absolutely. Mariko? I don’t think so. Yabu? Would Toranaga trust him? That neckless maniac Buntaro? Probably not.

Obviously this is a highly secret escape attempt. But why should Toranaga risk his life outside the castle? Isn’t he safer inside? Why the secrecy? Who’s he escaping from? Ishido? The assassins? Or someone else in the castle? Probably all of them, Blackthorne thought, wishing they were safely in the galley and out to sea. If Toranaga’s discovered it’s going to rain dung, the fight’s going to be to the death and no quarter asked or given. I’m unarmed and even if I had a brace of pistols or a twenty pounder and a hundred bully boys, the Grays’d swamp us. I’ve nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. It’s a turd-stuffed fornicator whichever way you count it!

“Are you tiring, Anjin-san?” Mariko asked daintily. “If you like, I’ll walk and you can ride.”

“Thanks,” he replied sourly, missing his boots, the thonged slippers still awkward. “My legs are fine. I was just wishing we were safe at sea, that’s all.”

“Is the sea ever safe?”

“Sometimes, senhora. Not often.” Blackthorne hardly heard her. He was thinking, by the Lord Jesus, I hope I don’t give Toranaga away. That would be terrible! It’d be so much simpler if I hadn’t seen him. That was just bad luck, one of those accidents that can disrupt a perfectly planned and executed scheme. The old girl, Kiritsubo,
she’s a great actress, and the young one too. It was only because I couldn’t understand what she’d shouted out that I didn’t fall for the ruse. Just bad luck I saw Toranaga clearly—bewigged, made up, kimonoed, and cloaked, just like Kiritsubo, but still Toranaga.

At the next checkpoint the new captain of Grays came closer than ever before, the maids tearfully bowing and standing in the way without trying to appear as though they were standing in the way. The captain peered across at Blackthorne and walked over. After an incredulous scrutiny he talked with Mariko, who shook her bead and answered him. The man grunted and strolled back to Yabu, returned the documents and waved the procession onward again.

“What did he say?” Blackthorne asked.

“He wondered where you were from—where your home was.”

“But you shook your head. How was that an answer?”

“Oh, so sorry, he said—he wondered if the far-distant ancestors of your people were related to the
kami
—the spirit—that lives to the north, on the outskirts of China. Till quite recently we thought China was the only other civilized place on earth—except for Japan,
neh?
China is so immense it is like the world itself,” she said, and closed the subject. The captain had actually asked if she thought this barbarian was descended from Harimwakairi, the
kami
that looked after cats, adding this one certainly stank like a polecat in rut, as the
kami
was supposed to do.

She had replied that she didn’t think so, inwardly ashamed of the captain’s rudeness, for the Anjin-san did not have a stench like Tsukku-san or the Father-Visitor or usual barbarians. His aroma was almost imperceptible now.

Blackthorne knew she wasn’t telling him the truth. I wish I could speak their gibberish, he thought. I wish more I could get off this cursed island, back aboard
Erasmus
, the crew fit and plenty of grub, grog, powder, and shot, our goods traded and away home again. When will that be? Toranaga said soon. Can he be trusted? How did he get the ship to Yedo? Tow it? Did the Portuguese sail her? I wonder how Rodrigues is. Did his leg rot? He should know by now if he’s going to live with two legs or one—if the amputation doesn’t kill him—or if he’s going to die. Jesus God in Heaven, protect me from wounds and all doctors. And priests.

Another checkpoint. For the life of him, Blackthorne could not understand how everyone could remain so polite and patient, always bowing and allowing the documents to be handed over and handed
back, always smiling and no sign of irritation whatsoever on either side. They’re so different from us.

He glanced at Mariko’s face, which was partially obscured by her veil and wide hat. He thought she looked very pretty and he was glad that he had had it out with her over her mistake. At least I won’t have any more of that nonsense, he told himself. Bastard queers, they’re all blood-mucked bastards!

After he had accepted her apology this morning he had begun to ask about Yedo and Japanese customs and Ishido and about the castle. He had avoided the topic of sex. She had answered at length, but had avoided any political explanations and her replies were informative but innocuous. Soon she and the maids had left to prepare for her departure, and he had been alone with the samurai guards.

Being so closely hemmed in all the time was making him edgy. There’s always someone around, he thought. There are too many of them. They’re like ants. I’d like the peace of a bolted oak door for a change, the bolt my side and not theirs. I can’t wait to get aboard again, out into the air, out to sea. Even in that sow-bellied gut-churner of a galley.

Now as he walked through Osaka Castle, he realized that he would have Toranaga in his own element, at sea, where he himself was king. We’ll have time enough to talk, Mariko’ll interpret and I’ll get everything settled. Trade agreements, the ship, the return of our silver, and payment if he wants to trade for the muskets and powder. I’ll make arrangements to come back next year with a full cargo of silk. Terrible about Friar Domingo, but I’ll put his information to good use. I’m going to take
Erasmus
and sail her up the Pearl River to Canton and I’ll break the Portuguese and China blockade. Give me my ship back and I’m rich. Richer than Drake! When I get home I’ll call up all the seadogs from Plymouth to the Zuider Zee and we’ll take over the trade of all Asia. Where Drake singed Philip’s beard, I’m going to cut off his testicles. Without silk, Macao dies, without Macao, Malacca dies, then Goa! We can roll up the Portuguese Empire like a carpet. ‘You want the trade of India, Your Majesty? Afrique? Asia? The Japans? Here’s how you can take it in five years!’

‘Arise, Sir John!’

Yes, knighthood was within easy reach, at long last. And perhaps more. Captains and navigators became admirals, knights, lords, even earls. The only way for an Englishman, a commoner, to safety, the true safety of position within the realm, was through the Queen’s
favor, bless her. And the way to her favor was to bring her treasure, to help her pay for the war against stinking Spain, and that bastard the Pope.

Three years’ll give me three trips, Blackthorne gloated. Oh, I know about the monsoon winds and the great storms, but
Erasmus’ll
be closehauled and we’ll ship in smaller amounts. Wait a minute—why not do the job properly and forget the small amounts? Why not take this year’s Black Ship? Then you have everything!

How?

Easily—if she has no escort and we catch her unawares. But I’ve not enough men. Wait, there’re men at Nagasaki! Isn’t that where all the Portuguese are? Didn’t Domingo say it was almost like a Portuguese seaport? Rodrigues said the same! Aren’t there always seamen in their ships who’ve been pressed aboard or forced aboard, always some who’re ready to jump ship for quick profit on their own, whoever the captain and whatever the flag? With
Erasmus
and our silver I could hire a crew. I know I could. I don’t need three years. Two will be enough. Two more years with my ship and a crew, then home. I’ll be rich and famous. And we’ll part company, the sea and I, at long last. Forever.