Shōgun (The Asian Saga Book 1)

Once more in the crowded Osaka sea roads after the long journey by galley, Blackthorne again felt the same crushing weight of the city as when he had first seen it.  Great swathes had been laid waste by the tai-fun and some areas were still fire-blackened, but its immensity was almost untouched and still dominated by the castle.  Even from this distance, more than a league, he could see the colossal girth of the first great wall, the towering battlements, all dwarfed by the brooding malevolence of the donjon.

‘Christ,’ Vinck said nervously, standing beside him on the prow, ‘doesn’t seem possible to be so big.  Amsterdam’d be a flyspeck alongside it.’

‘Yes.  The storm’s hurt the city but not that badly.  Nothing could touch the castle.’

The tai-fun had slammed out of the southwest two weeks ago.  They had had plenty of warning, with lowering skies and squalls and rain, and had rushed the galley into a safe harbor to wait out the tempest.  They had waited five days.  Beyond the harbor the ocean had been whipped to froth and the winds were more violent and stronger than anything Blackthorne had ever experienced.

‘Christ,’ Vinck said again.  ‘Wish we were home.  We should’ve been home a year ago.’

Blackthorne had brought Vinck with him from Yokohama and sent the others back to Yedo, leaving Erasmus safely harbored and guarded under Naga’s command.  His crew had been happy to go—as he had been happy to see the last of them.  There had been more quarreling that night and a violent argument over the ship’s bullion.  The money was company money, not his.  Van Nekk was treasurer of the expedition and chief merchant and, jointly with the Captain-General, had legal jurisdiction over it.  After it had been counted and recounted and found correct, less a thousand coins, van Nekk supported by Jan Roper had argued about the amount that he could take with him to get new men.

‘You want far too much, Pilot!  You’ll have to offer them less!’

‘Christ Jesus!  Whatever it takes we have to pay.  I must have seamen and gunners.’  He had slammed his fist on the table of the great cabin.  ‘How else are we going to get home?’

Eventually he had persuaded them to let him take enough, and was disgusted that they had made him lose his temper with their pettifogging.  The next day he had shipped them back to Yedo, a tenth of the treasure split up among them as back pay, the rest under guard on the ship.

‘How do we know it’ll be safe here?’ Jan Roper asked, scowling.

‘Stay and guard it yourself then!’

But none of them had wanted to stay aboard.  Vinck had agreed to come with him.

‘Why him, Pilot?’ van Nekk had asked.

‘Because he’s a seaman and I’ll need help.’

Blackthorne had been glad to see the last of them.  Once at sea he began to change Vinck to Japanese ways.  Vinck was stoic about it, trusting Blackthorne, having sailed too many years with him not to know his measure.  ‘Pilot, for you I’ll bathe and wash every day but I’ll be God-cursed afore I wear a poxy nighty!’

Within ten days Vinck was happily swinging the lead half-naked, his wide leather belt over his paunch, a dagger stuck in a sheath at his back and one of Blackthorne’s pistols safely within his clean though ragged shirt.

‘We don’t have to go to the castle, do we, Pilot?’

‘No.’

‘Christ Jesus—I’d rather stay away from there.’

The day was fine, a high sun shimmering off the calm sea.  The rowers were still strong and disciplined.

‘Vinck—that’s where the ambush was!’

‘Christ Jesus, look at those shoals!’

Blackthorne had told Vinck about the narrowness of his escape, the signal fires on those battlements, the piles of dead ashore, the enemy frigate bearing down on him.

‘Ah, Anjin-san.’  Yabu came to join them.  ‘Good, neh?‘  He motioned at the devastation.

‘Bad, Yabu-sama.’

‘It’s enemy, neh?‘

‘People are not enemy.  Only Ishido and samurai enemy, neh?‘

‘The castle is enemy,’ Yabu replied, reflecting his disquiet, and that of all those aboard.  ‘Here everything is enemy.’

Blackthorne watched Yabu move to the bow, the wind whipping his kimono away from his hard torso.

Vinck dropped his voice.  ‘I want to kill that bastard, Pilot.’

‘Yes.  I’ve not forgotten about old Pieterzoon either, don’t worry.’

‘Nor me, God be my judge!  Beats me how you talk their talk.  What’d he say?’

‘He was just being polite.’

‘What’s the plan?’

‘We dock and wait.  He goes off for a day or two and we keep our heads down and wait.  Toranaga said he’d send messages for the safe conducts we’d need but even so, we’re going to keep our heads down and stay aboard.’  Blackthorne scanned the shipping and the waters for dangers but found none.  Still, he said to Vinck, ‘Better call the fathoms now, just in case!’

‘Aye!’

Yabu watched Vinck swinging the lead for a moment, then strolled back to Blackthorne.  ‘Anjin-san, perhaps you’d better take the galley and go on to Nagasaki.  Don’t wait, eh?’

‘All right,’ Blackthorne said agreeably, not rising to the bait.

Yabu laughed.  ‘I like you, Anjin-san!  But so sorry, alone you’ll soon die.  Nagasaki’s very bad for you.’

‘Osaka bad—everywhere bad!’

‘Karma.’  Yabu smiled again.  Blackthorne pretended to share the joke.

They had had variations of the same conversation many times during the voyage.  Blackthorne had learned much about Yabu.  He hated him even more, distrusted him even more, respected him more, and knew their karmas were interlocked.

‘Yabu-san’s right, Anjin-san,’ Uraga had said.  ‘He can protect you at Nagasaki, I cannot.’

‘Because of your uncle, Lord Harima?’

‘Yes.  Perhaps I’m already declared outlaw, neh?  My uncle’s Christian—though I think a rice Christian.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Nagasaki is his fief.  Nagasaki has great harbor on the coast of Kyushu but not the best.  So he quickly sees the light, neh?  He becomes Christian, and orders all his vassals Christian.  He ordered me Christian and into the Jesuit School, and then had me sent as one of the Christian envoys to the Pope.  He gave land to the Jesuits and—how would you say it—fawns on them.  But his heart is only Japanese.’

‘Do the Jesuits know what you think?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Do they believe that about rice Christians?’

‘They don’t tell us, their converts, what they truly believe, Anjin-san.  Or even themselves most times.  They are trained to have secrets, to use secrets, to welcome them, but never to reveal them.  In that they’re very Japanese.’

‘You’d better stay here in Osaka, Uraga-san.’

‘Please excuse me, Sire, I am your vassal. If you go to Nagasaki, I go.’

Blackthorne knew that Uraga was becoming an invaluable aid.  The man was revealing so many Jesuit secrets:  the how and why and when of their trade negotiations, their internal workings and incredible international machinations.  And he was equally informative about Harima and Kiyama and how the Christian daimyos thought, and why, probably, they would stay sided with lshido.  God, I know so much now that’d be priceless in London, he thought, and so much still to learn.  How can I pass on the knowledge?  For instance that China’s trade, just in silk to Japan, is worth ten million in gold a year, and that, even now, the Jesuits have one of their professed priests at the Court of the Emperor of China in Peking, honored with courtly rank, a confidant of the rulers, speaking Chinese perfectly.  If only I could send a letter—if only I had an envoy.

In return for all the knowledge Blackthorne began to teach Uraga about navigation, about the great religious schism, and about Parliament.  Also he taught him and Yabu how to fire a gun.  Both were apt pupils.  Uraga’s a good man, he thought.  No problem.  Except he’s ashamed of his lack of a samurai queue.  That’ll soon grow.

There was a warning shout from the forepoop lookout.

‘Anjin-san!’  The Japanese captain was pointing ahead at an elegant cutter, oared by twenty men, that approached from the starboard quarter.  At the masthead was Ishido’s cipher.  Alongside it was the cipher of the Council of Regents, the same that Nebara Jozen and his men had traveled under to Anjiro, to their deaths.

‘Who is it?’ Blackthorne asked, feeling a tension throughout the ship, all eyes straining into the distance.

‘I can’t see yet, so sorry,’ the captain said.

‘Yabu-san?’

Yabu shrugged.  ‘An official.’

As the cutter came closer, Blackthorne saw an elderly man sitting under the aft canopy, wearing ornate ceremonial dress with the winged overmantle.  He wore no swords.  Surrounding him were Ishido’s Grays.

The drum master ceased the beat to allow the cutter to come alongside.  Men rushed to help the official aboard.  A Japanese pilot jumped after him and after numerous bows took formal charge of the galley.

Yabu and the elderly man were also formal and painstaking.  At length they were seated on cushions of unequal rank, the official taking the most favored position on the poop.  Samurai, Yabu’s and Grays, sat cross-legged or knelt on the main deck surrounding them in even lesser places.  ‘The Council welcomes you, Kasigi Yabu, in the name of His Imperial Highness,’ the man said.  He was small and stocky, somewhat effete, a senior adviser to the Regents on protocol who also had Imperial Court rank.  His name was Ogaki Takamoto, he was a Prince of the Seventh Rank, and his function was to act as one of the intermediaries between the Court of His Imperial Highness, the Son of Heaven, and the Regents.  His teeth were dyed black in the manner that all courtiers of the Imperial Court had, by custom, affected for centuries.

‘Thank you, Prince Ogaki.  It’s a privilege to be here on Lord Toranaga’s behalf,’ Yabu said, vastly impressed with the honor being done to him.

‘Yes, I’m sure it is.  Of course, you’re here on your own behalf also, neh?‘ Ogaki said dryly.

‘Of course,’ Yabu replied.  ‘When does Lord Toranaga arrive?  So sorry, but the tai-fun delayed me for five days and I’ve had no news since I left.’

‘Ah, yes, the tai-fun.  Yes, the Council were so happy to hear that the storm did not touch you.’  Ogaki coughed.  ‘As to your master, I regret to tell you that he hasn’t even reached Odawara yet.  There have been interminable delays, and some sickness.  Regrettable, neh?‘

‘Oh yes, very—nothing serious, I trust?’ Yabu asked quickly, immensely glad to be party to Toranaga’s secret.

‘No, fortunately nothing serious.’  Again the dry cough.  ‘Lord Ishido understands that your master reaches Odawara tomorrow.’

Yabu was suitably surprised.  ‘When I left, twenty-one days ago, everything was ready for his immediate departure, then Lord Hiro-matsu became sick.  I know Lord Toranaga was gravely concerned but anxious to begin his journey—as I’m anxious to begin preparations for his arrival.’

‘Everything’s prepared,’ the small man said.

‘Of course the Council will have no objections if I check the arrangements, neh?‘  Yabu was expansive.  ‘It’s essential the ceremony be worthy of the Council and occasion, neh?‘

‘Worthy of His Imperial Majesty, the Son of Heaven.  It’s his summons now.’

‘Of course but . . .’  Yabu’s sense of well-being died.  ‘You mean . . . you mean His Imperial Highness will be there?’

‘The Exalted has agreed to the Regents’ humble request to accept personally the obeisance of the new Council, all major daimyos, including Lord Toranaga, his family, and vassals.  The senior advisers of His Imperial Highness were asked to choose an auspicious day for such a—such a ritual.  The twenty-second day of this month, in this, the fifth year of the era Keichō.’

Yabu was stupefied.  ‘In—in nineteen days?’

‘At noon.’  Fastidiously Ogaki took out a paper kerchief from his sleeve and delicately blew his nose.  ‘Please excuse me.  Yes, at noon.  The omens were perfect.  Lord Toranaga was informed by Imperial messenger fourteen days ago.  His immediate humble acceptance reached the Regents three days ago.’  Ogaki took out a small scroll.  ‘Here is your invitation, Lord Kasigi Yabu, to the ceremony.’

Yabu quailed as he saw the Imperial seal of the sixteen-petal chrysanthemum and knew that no one, not even Toranaga, could possibly refuse such a summons.  A refusal would be an unthinkable insult to the Divinity, an open rebellion, and as all land belonged to the reigning Emperor, would result in immediate forfeiture of all land, coupled with an Imperial invitation to commit seppuku at once, issued on his behalf by the Regents, also sealed with the Great Seal.  Such an invitation would be absolute and would have to be obeyed.

Yabu frantically tried to recover his composure.

‘So sorry, are you unwell?’ Ogaki asked solicitously.

‘So sorry,’ Yabu stuttered, ‘but never in my wildest dreams. . . . No one could have imagined the Exalted would—would so honor us, neh?‘

‘I agree, oh yes.  Extraordinary!’

‘Astonishing . . . that His Imperial Highness would—would consider leaving Kyoto and—and come to Osaka.’

‘I agree.  Even so, on the twenty-second day, the Exalted and the Imperial Regalia will be here.’  The Imperial Regalia, without which no succession was valid, were the Three Sacred Treasures, considered divine, that all believed had been brought to earth by the god Ninigi-noh-Mikoto and passed on by him personally to his grandson, Jimmu Tenno, the first human Emperor, and by him personally to his successor down to the present holder, the Emperor Go-Nijo:  the Sword, the Jewel, and the Mirror.  The Sacred Sword and the Jewel always traveled in state with the Emperor whenever he had to stay overnight away from the palace; the Mirror was kept within the inner sanctuary at the great Shinto shrine of Ise.  The Sword, the Mirror, and the Jewel belonged to the Son of Heaven.  They were divine symbols of legitimate authority, of his divinity, that when he was on the move, the divine throne moved with him.  And thus that with him went all power.

Yabu croaked, ‘It’s almost impossible to believe that preparations for his arrival could be made in time.’

‘Oh, the Lord General Ishido, on behalf of the Regents, petitioned the Exalted the moment he first heard from Lord Zataki at Yokosé that Lord Toranaga had agreed, equally astonishingly, to come to Osaka and bow to the inevitable.  Only the great honor that your master does the Regents prompted them to petition the Son of Heaven to grace the occasion with the Presence.’  Again the dry cough.  ‘Please excuse me, you would perhaps give me your formal acceptance in writing as soon as is convenient?’

‘May I do it at once?’ Yabu asked, feeling very weak.

‘I’m sure the Regents would appreciate that.’

Feebly Yabu sent for writing materials.  Nineteen kept pounding in his brain.  Nineteen days!  Toranaga can delay only nineteen days and then he must be here too.  Time enough for me to get to Nagasaki and safely back to Osaka, but not time enough to launch the seaborne attack on the Black Ship and take it, so not time enough to pressure Harima, Kiyama, or Onoshi, or the Christian priests, therefore not time enough to launch Crimson Sky, therefore Toranaga’s whole scheme is just another illusion . . . oh oh oh!

Toranaga’s failed.  I should have known that he would.  The answer to my dilemma is clear:  Either I blindly trust Toranaga to squeeze out of this net and I help the Anjin-san as planned to get the men to take the Black Ship even more rapidly, or I’ve got to go to Ishido and tell him everything I know and try to barter for my life and for Izu.

Which?

Paper and brush and ink arrived.  Yabu put his anguish aside for a moment and concentrated on writing as perfectly and beautifully as he could.  It was unthinkable to reply to the Presence with a cluttered mind.  When he had finished his acceptance, he had made the critical decision:  He would follow Yuriko’s advice completely.  At once the weight tumbled off his wa and he felt greatly cleansed.  He signed his name with an arrogant flourish.

How to be Toranaga’s best vassal?  So simple:  Remove Ishido from this earth.

How to do that, yet leave enough time to escape?

Then he heard Ogaki say, ‘Tomorrow you are invited to a formal reception given by the General Lord Ishido to honor the birthday of the Lady Ochiba.’

Still travel-worn, Mariko embraced Kiri first, then hugged the Lady Sazuko, admired the baby, and hugged Kiri again.  Personal maids fussed and bustled around them, bringing cha and saké and taking away the trays again, hurrying in and out with cushions and sweet-smelling herbs, opening and closing the shojis overlooking the inner garden in their section of Osaka Castle, waving fans, chattering, and weeping also.

At length Kiri clapped her hands, dismissed the maids, and groped heavily for her special cushion, overcome with excitement and happiness.  She was very flushed.  Hastily Mariko and the Lady Sazuko fanned her and ministered to her, and only after three large cups of saké was she able to catch her breath again.

‘Oh, that’s better,’ she said.  ‘Yes, thank you child, yes, I’ll have some more!  Oh, Mariko-chan, you’re really here?’

‘Yes, yes.  Really here, Kiri-san.’

Sazuko, looking much younger than her seventeen years, said, ‘Oh, we’ve been so worried with only rumors and—’

‘Yes, nothing but rumors, Mariko-chan,’ Kiri interrupted.  ‘Oh, there’s so much I want to know, I feel faint.’

‘Poor Kiri-san, here, have some saké,’ Sazuko said solicitously.  ‘Perhaps you should loosen your obi and—’

‘I’m perfectly all right now!  Please don’t fuss, child.’  Kiri exhaled and folded her hands over her ample stomach.  ‘Oh Mariko-san, it’s so good to see a friendly face again from outside Osaka Castle.’

‘Yes,’ Sazuko echoed, nestling closer to Mariko, and said in a torrent, ‘whenever we go out of our gate Grays swarm around us like we were queen bees.  We’re not allowed to leave the castle, except with the Council’s permission—none of the ladies are, even Lord Kiyama’s—and the Council almost never meets and they hem and haw so there’s never any permission and the doctor still says I’m not to travel yet but I’m fine and the baby’s fine and. . . . But first tell us—’

Kiri interrupted, ‘First tell us how our Master is.’

The girl laughed, her vivacity undiminished.  ‘I was going to ask that, Kiri-san!’

Mariko replied as Toranaga had ordered.  ‘He’s committed to his course—he’s confident and content with his decision.’  She had rehearsed herself many times during her journey.  Even so the strength of the gloom she created almost made her want to blurt out the truth.  ‘So sorry,’ she said.

‘Oh!’ Sazuko tried not to sound frightened.

Kiri heaved herself to a more comfortable position.  ‘Karma is karma, neh?‘

‘Then—then there’s no change—no hope?’ the girl asked.

Kiri patted her hand.  ‘Believe that karma is karma, child, and Lord Toranaga is the greatest, wisest man alive.  That is enough, the rest is illusion.  Mariko-chan, do you have messages for us?’

‘Oh, so sorry.  Yes, here.’  Mariko took the three scrolls from her sleeve.  ‘Two for you, Kiri-chan—one from our Master, one from Lord Hiro-matsu.  This is for you, Sazuko, from your Lord, but he told me to tell you he misses you and wants to see his newest son.  He made me remember to tell you three times.  He misses you very much and oh so wants to see his youngest son.  He misses you very . . .’

Tears were spilling down the girl’s cheeks.  She mumbled an apology and ran out of the room clutching the scroll.

‘Poor child.  It’s so very hard for her here.’  Kiri did not break the seals of her scrolls.  ‘You know about His Imperial Majesty being present?’

‘Yes.’  Mariko was equally grave.  ‘A courier from Lord Toranaga caught up with me a week ago.  The message gave no details other than that, and named the day he will arrive here.  Have you heard from him?’

‘Not directly—nothing private—not for a month now.  How is he?  Really?’

‘Confident.’  She sipped some saké.  ‘Oh, may I pour for you?’

‘Thank you.’

‘Nineteen days isn’t much time, is it, Kiri-chan?’

‘It’s time enough to go to Yedo and back again if you hurry, time enough to live a lifetime if you want, more than enough time to fight a battle or lose an Empire—time for a million things, but not enough time to eat all the rare dishes or drink all the sake. . . .’  Kiri smiled faintly.  ‘I’m certainly not going to diet for the next twenty days.  I’m—’  She stopped.  ‘Oh, please excuse me—listen to me prattling on and you haven’t even changed or bathed.  There’ll be plenty of time to talk later.’

‘Oh, please don’t concern yourself.  I’m not tired.’

‘But you must be.  You’ll stay at your house?’

‘Yes.  That’s where the General Lord Ishido’s pass permits me to go.’  Mariko smiled wryly.  ‘His welcome was flowery!’

Kiri scowled.  ‘I doubt if he’d be welcome even in hell.’

‘Oh?  So sorry, what now?’

‘Nothing more than before.  I know he ordered the Lord Sugiyama murders and tortures though I’ve no proof.  Last week one of Lord Oda’s consorts tried to sneak out with her children, disguised as a street cleaner.  Sentries shot them ‘by mistake.”

‘How terrible!’

‘Of course, great ‘apologies’!  Ishido claims security is all important.  There was a trumped-up assassination attempt on the Heir—that’s his excuse.’

‘Why don’t the ladies leave openly?’

‘The Council has ordered wives and families to wait for their husbands, who must return for the Ceremony.  The great Lord General feels ‘the responsibility of their safety too gravely to allow them to wander.’  The castle’s locked tighter than an old oyster.’

‘So is the outside, Kiri-san.  There are many more barriers than before on the Tokaidō, and Ishido’s security’s very strong within fifty ri.  Patrols everywhere.’

‘Everyone’s frightened of him, except us and our few samurai, and we’re no more trouble to him than a pimple on a dragon’s rump.’

‘Even our doctors?’

‘Them too.  Yes, they still advise us not to travel, even if it were permitted, which it will never be.’

‘Is the Lady Sazuko fit—is the baby fit, Kiri-san?’

‘Yes, you can see that for yourself.  And so am I.’  Kiri sighed, the strain showing now, and Mariko noticed there was much more gray in her hair than before.  ‘Nothing’s changed since I wrote to Lord Toranaga at Anjiro.  We’re hostages and we’ll stay hostages with all the rest until The Day.  Then there’ll be a resolution.’

‘Now that His Imperial Highness is arriving . . . that makes everything final, neh?‘

‘Yes.  It would seem so.  Go and rest, Mariko-chan, but eat with us tonight.  Then we can talk, neh?  Oh, by the way, one piece of news for you.  Your famous barbarian hatamoto—bless him for saving our Master, we heard about that—he docked safely this morning, with Kasigi Yabu-san.’

‘Oh!  I was so worried about them.  They left the day before I did by sea.  We were also caught in part of the tai-fun, near Nagoya, but it wasn’t that bad for us.  I was afraid at sea. . . . Oh, that’s a relief.’

‘It wasn’t too bad here except for the fires.  Many thousands of homes burned but barely two thousand dead.  We heard today that the main force of the storm hit Kyushu, on the east coast, and part of Shikoku.  Tens of thousands died.  No one yet knows the full extent of the damage.’

‘But the harvest?’ Mariko asked quickly.

‘Much of it’s flattened here—fields upon fields.  The farmers hope that it will recover but who knows?  If there’s no damage to the Kwanto during the season, their rice may have to support the whole Empire this year and next.’

‘It would be far better if Lord Toranaga controlled such a harvest than Ishido.  Neh?‘

‘Yes.  But, so sorry, nineteen days is not time enough to take in a harvest, with all the prayers in the world.’

Mariko finished her saké.  ‘Yes.’

Kiri said, ‘If their ship left the day before you, you must have hurried.’

‘I thought it best not to dawdle, Kiri-chan.  It’s no pleasure for me to travel.’

‘And Buntaro-san?  He’s well?’

‘Yes.  He’s in charge of Mishima and all the border at the moment.  I saw him briefly coming here.  Do you know where Kasigi Yabu-sama’s staying?  I have a message for him.’

‘In one of the guest houses.  I’ll find out which and send you word at once.’  Kiri accepted more wine.  ‘Thank you, Mariko-chan.  I heard the Anjin-san’s still on the galley.’

‘He’s a very interesting man, Kiri-san.  He’s become more than a little useful to our Master.’

‘I heard that.  I want to hear everything about him and the earthquake and all your news.  Oh yes, there’s a formal reception tomorrow evening for Lady Ochiba’s birthday, given by Lord Ishido.  Of course you’ll be invited.  I heard that the Anjin-san’s going to be invited too.  The Lady Ochiba wanted to see what he looks like.  You remember the Heir met him once.  Wasn’t that the first time you saw him too?’

‘Yes.  Poor man, so he’s to be shown off, like a captive whale?’

‘Yes.’  Kiri added placidly, ‘With all of us.  We’re all captives, Mariko-chan, whether we like it or not.’

Uraga hurried furtively down the alley toward the shore, the night dark, the sky clear and starlit, the air pleasant.  He was dressed in the flowing orange robe of a Buddhist priest, his inevitable hat, and cheap straw sandals.  Behind him were warehouses and the tall, almost European bulk of the Jesuit Mission.  He turned a corner and redoubled his pace.  Few people were about.  A company of Grays carrying flares patrolled the shore.  He slowed as he passed them courteously, though with a priest’s arrogance.  The samurai hardly noticed him.

He went unerringly along the foreshore, past beached fishing boats, the smells of the sea and shore heavy on the slight breeze.  It was low tide.  Scattered over the bay and sanding shelves were night fishermen, like so many fireflies, hunting with spears under their flares.  Ahead two hundred paces were the wharves and jetties, barnacle encrusted.  Moored to one of them was a Jesuit lorcha, the flags of Portugal and the Company of Jesus fluttering, flares and more Grays near the gangway.  He changed direction to skirt the ship, heading back into the city a few blocks, then cut down Nineteenth Street, turned into twisting alleys, and came out on to the road that followed the wharves once more.

‘You!  Halt!’

The order came out of the darkness.  Uraga stopped in sudden panic.  Grays came forward into the light and surrounded him.  ‘Where’re you going, priest?’

‘To the east of the city,’ Uraga said haltingly, his mouth dry.  ‘To our Nichiren shrine.’

‘Ah, you’re Nichiren, neh?‘

Another samurai said roughly, ‘I’m not one of those.  I’m Zen Buddhist like the Lord General.’

‘Zen—ah yes, Zen’s the best,’ another said.  ‘Wish I could understand that.  It’s too hard for my old head.’

‘He’s sweating a lot for a priest, isn’t he?  Why are you sweating?’

‘You mean priests don’t sweat?’

A few laughed and someone held a flare closer.

‘Why should they sweat?’ the rough man said.  ‘All they do is sleep all day and pillow all night—nuns, boys, dogs, themselves, anything they can get—and all the time stuff themselves with food they’ve never labored for.  Priests are parasites, like fleas.’

‘Eh, leave him alone, he’s just—’

‘Take off your hat, priest.’

Uraga stiffened.  ‘Why?  And why taunt a man who serves Buddha?  Buddha’s doing you no—’

The samurai stepped forward pugnaciously.  ‘I said take off your hat!’

Uraga obeyed.  His head was newly shaven as a priest’s should be and he blessed whatever kami or spirit or gift from Buddha had prompted him to take that added precaution in case he was caught breaking curfew.  All the Anjin-san’s samurai had been ordered confined to the vessel by the port authorities, pending instructions from higher up.  ‘There’s no cause to have foul manners,’ he flared with a Jesuit’s unconscious authority.  ‘Serving Buddha’s an honorable life, and becoming a priest is honorable and should be the final part of every samurai’s old age.  Or do you know nothing of bushido?  Where are your manners?’

‘What?  You’re samurai?’

‘Of course I’m samurai.  How else would I dare to talk to samurai about bad manners?’  Uraga put on his hat.  ‘It would be better for you to be patrolling than accosting and insulting innocent priests!’  He walked off haughtily, his knees weak.

The samurai watched him for a time, then one spat.  ‘Priests!’

‘He was right,’ the senior samurai said sourly.  ‘Where are your manners?’

‘So sorry.  Please excuse me.’

Uraga walked along the road, very proud of himself.  Nearer the galley he became wary again and waited a moment in the lee of a building.  Then, gathering himself together, he walked into the flare-lit area.

‘Good evening,’ he said politely to the Grays who lolled beside the gangplank, then added the religious blessing, ‘Namu Amida Butsu,’ In the Name of the Buddha Amida.

‘Thank you.  Namu Amida Butsu.’  The Grays let him pass without hindrance.  Their orders were that the barbarian and all samurai were forbidden ashore except for Yabu and his honor guard.  No one had said anything about the Buddhist priest who traveled with the ship.

Greatly tired now, Uraga came onto the main deck.

‘Uraga-san,’ Blackthorne called out softly from the quarterdeck.  ‘Over here.’

Uraga squinted to adjust his eyes to the darkness.  He saw Blackthorne and he smelt the stale, brassy body aroma and knew that the second shadow there had to be the other barbarian with the unpronounceable name who could also speak Portuguese.  He had almost forgotten what it was like to be away from the barbarian odor that was part of his life.  The Anjin-san was the only one he had met who did not reek, which was one reason why he could serve him.

‘Ah, Anjin-san,’ he whispered and picked his way over to him, briefly greeting the ten guards who were scattered around the deck.

He waited at the foot of the gangway until Blackthorne motioned him up onto the quarterdeck.  ‘It went very—’

‘Wait,’ Blackthorne cautioned him as softly and pointed.  ‘Look ashore.  Over there, near the warehouse.  See him?  No, north a little—there, you see him now?’  A shadow moved briefly, then merged into the darkness again.

‘Who was it?’

‘I’ve been watching you ever since you came into the road.  He’s been dogging you.  You never saw him?’

‘No, Sire,’ Uraga replied, his foreboding returning to him.  ‘I saw no one, felt no one.’

‘He didn’t have swords, so he wasn’t samurai.  A Jesuit?’

‘I don’t know.  I don’t think so—I was most careful there.  Please excuse me that I didn’t see him.’

‘Never mind.’ Blackthorne glanced at Vinck.  ‘Go below now, Johann.  I’ll finish this watch and wake you at dawn.  Thanks for waiting.’

Vinck touched his forelock and went below.  The dank smell left with him.  ‘I was getting worried about you,’ Blackthorne said.  ‘What happened?’

‘Yabu-sama’s messenger was slow, Anjin-san.  Here is my report:  I went with Yabu-sama and waited outside the castle from noon till just after dark when—’

‘What were you doing all that time?  Exactly?’

‘Exactly, Sire?  I chose a quiet place near the marketplace in sight of First Bridge, and I put my mind into meditation—the Jesuit practice, Anjin-san, but not about God, only about you and Yabu-sama and your future, Sire.’  Uraga smiled.  ‘Many passersby put coins into my begging bowl, I let my body rest and my mind roam, though I watched the First Bridge all the time.  Yabu-sama’s messenger came after dark and pretended to pray with me until we were quite alone.  The messenger whispered this:  ‘Yabu-sama says that he will be staying in the castle tonight and that he will return tomorrow morning.  There is to be an official function in the castle tomorrow night that you will be invited to, given by General Lord Ishido.  Finally, you should consider seventy.”  Uraga peered at him.  ‘The samurai repeated that twice, so I presume it’s private code, Sire.’

Blackthorne nodded but did not volunteer that this was one of many prearranged signals between Yabu and himself.  ‘Seventy’ meant that he should ensure the ship was prepared for an instant retreat to sea.  But with all his samurai, seamen, and rowers confined aboard, the ship was ready.  And as everyone was very aware they were in enemy waters and all were greatly troubled, Blackthorne knew it would require no effort to get the ship headed out to sea.

‘Go on, Uraga-san.’

‘That was all except I was to tell you Toda Mariko-san arrived today. ‘

‘Ah!  Did she. . . . Isn’t that a very fast time to make the land journey here from Yedo?’

‘Yes, Sire.  Actually, while I was waiting, I saw her company go across the bridge.  It was in the afternoon, the middle of the Hour of the Goat.  The horses were lathered and muddy and the bearers very tired.  Yoshinaka-san led them.’

‘Did any of them see you?’

‘No, Sire.  No, I don’t think so.’

‘How many were there?’

‘About two hundred samurai, with porters and baggage horses.  Twice that number of Grays escorting them.  One of the baggage horses had panniers of carrier pigeons.’

‘Good.  Next?’

‘As soon as I was able, I left.  There’s a noodle shop near the Mission that many merchants, rice and silk brokers, Mission people use.  I—I went there and ate and listened.  The Father-Visitor is again in residence here.  Many more converts in Osaka area.  Permission has been granted for a huge Mass in twenty days, in honor of Lords Kiyama and Onoshi.’

‘Is that important?’

‘Yes, and astonishing for such a service to be permitted openly.  It is to celebrate the Feast of Saint Bernard.  Twenty days is the day after the Obeisance Ceremony before the Exalted.’

Yabu had told Blackthorne about the Emperor through Uraga.  The news had swept through the whole ship, increasing everyone’s premonition of disaster.

‘What else?’

‘In the marketplace many rumors.  Most ill-omened.  Yodoko-sama, the Taikō’s widow, is very sick.  That’s bad, Anjin-san, because her counsel is always listened to and always reasonable.  Some say Lord Toranaga is already near Nagoya, others say he’s not yet reached Odawara, so no one knows what to believe.  All agree the harvest will be terrible this year, here in Osaka, which means the Kwanto becomes even more greatly important.  Most people think civil war will begin as soon as Lord Toranaga’s dead, at which time the great daimyos will begin to fight among themselves.  The price of gold is very high and interest rates up to seventy percent which—’

‘That’s impossibly high, you must be mistaken.’  Blackthorne got up and eased his back, then leaned wearily against the gunwale.  Politely Uraga and all samurai got up too.  It would have been bad manners for them to sit while their master stood.

‘Please excuse me, Anjin-san,’ Uraga was saying, ‘it’s never less than fifty percent, and usually sixty-five to seventy, even eighty.  Almost twenty years ago the Father-Visitor petitioned the Holy Fa—petitioned the Pope, to allow us—to allow the Society to lend at ten percentage.  He was right that his suggestion—it was approved, Anjin-san—would bring lusters to Christianity and many converts for, of course, only Christians could get loans, which were always modest.  You don’t pay such highs in your country?’

‘Rarely.  That’s usury!  You understand ‘usury’?’

‘I understand the word, yes.  But usury would not begin for us under one hundred percentage.  I was going to tell you also now rice is very expensive and that’s a bad omen—it’s double what it was when I was here a few weeks ago.  Land is cheap.  Now would be a good time to buy land here.  Or a house.  In the tai-fun and fires perhaps ten thousand homes die, and two, three thousand people.  That’s all, Anjin-san.’

‘That’s very good.  You’ve done very well.  You’ve missed your real vocation!’

‘Sire?’

‘Nothing,’ Blackthorne said, not yet knowing how far he could tease Uraga.  ‘You’ve done very well.’

‘Thank you, Sire.’

Blackthorne thought a moment, then asked him about the function tomorrow and Uraga advised him as best he could.  Finally Uraga told him about his escape from the patrol.

‘Would your hair have given you away?’ Blackthorne asked.

‘Oh yes.  Enough for them to take me to their officer.’  Uraga wiped the sweat off his forehead.  ‘So sorry, it’s hot, neh?‘

‘Very,’ Blackthorne agreed politely, and let his mind sift the information.  He glanced seaward, unconsciously checking the sky and sea and wind.  Everything was fine and orderly, the fishing boats complacently drifting with the tide, near and far, a spearman in the prow of each under a lantern stabbing down from time to time, and most always bringing up a fine bream or mullet or red snapper that curled and twisted on the spike.

‘One last thing, Sire.  I went to the Mission—all around the Mission.  The guards were very alert and I could never get in there—at least, I don’t think so, not unless I went past one of them.  I watched for a while, but before I left I saw Chimmoko, Lady Toda’s maid, go in.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes.  Another maid was with her.  I think—’

‘Lady Mariko?  Disguised?’

‘No, Sire.  I’m sure it was not—this second maid was too tall.’

Blackthorne looked seaward again and murmured, half to himself, ‘What’s the significance of that?’

‘Lady Mariko is Chris—she’s Catholic, neh?  She knows the Father-Visitor very well.  It was he who converted her.  Lady Mariko is the most very important Lady, the most famous in the realm, after the three highest nobility:  the Lady Ochiba, the Lady Genjiko, and Yodoko-sama, the wife of the Taikō.’

‘Mariko-san might want Confession?  Or a Mass?  Or a conference?  She sent Chimmoko to arrange them?’

‘Any or all, Anjin-san.  All ladies of the daimyos, both of friends to the Lord General and of those who might oppose him, are confined very much to the castle, neh?  Once in, they stay in, like fish in a golden bowl, waiting to be speared.’

‘Leave it!  Enough of your doom talk.’

‘So sorry.  Even so, Anjin-san, I think now the Lady Toda will come out no more.  Until the nineteenth day.’

‘I told you to leave it!  I understand about hostages and a last day.’  It was quiet on deck, all their voices muted.  The guard was resting easily, waiting out their watch.  Small water lapped the hull and the ropes creaked pleasantly.

After a moment, Uraga said, ‘Perhaps Chimmoko brought a summons—a request for the Father-Visitor to go to her.  She was surely under guard when she crossed First Bridge.  Surely Toda Mariko-noh-Buntaro-noh-Jinsai was under guard from the first moments she crossed from Lord Toranaga’s borders.  Neh?‘

‘Can we know if the Father-Visitor goes to the castle?’

‘Yes.  That is easy.’

‘How to know what’s said—or what’s done?’

‘That is very hard.  Very sorry, but they would speak Portuguese or Latin, neh?  And who speaks both but you and me?  I would be recognized by both.’  Uraga motioned at the castle and at the city.  ‘There are many Christians there.  Any would gain great favor by removing you, or me—neh?‘

Blackthorne did not answer.  No answer was needed.  He was seeing the donjon etched against the stars and he remembered Uraga telling him about the legendary, limitless treasure it protected, the Taikō’s plunder-levy of the Empire.  But now his mind was on what Toranaga might be doing and thinking and planning, and exactly where Mariko was and what was the use of going on to Nagasaki.  ‘Then you’re saying the nineteenth day is the last day, a death day, Yabu-san?’ he had repeated, almost nauseated by the knowledge that the trap was sprung on Toranaga.  And therefore on him and Erasmus.

‘Shigata ga nai!  We go quickly Nagasaki and back again.  Quick, understand?  Only four days to get men.  Then come back.’

‘But why?  When Toranaga here, all die, neh?‘ he had said.  But Yabu had gone ashore, telling him that the day after tomorrow they would leave.  In a ferment he had watched him go, wishing that he had brought Erasmus and not the galley.  If he had had Erasmus he knew that he would have somehow bypassed Osaka and headed straight for Nagasaki, or even more probably, he would have limped off over the horizon to find some snug harbor and taken time out from eternity to train his vassals to work the ship.

You’re a fool, he flayed himself.  With the few crew you’ve got now you couldn’t have docked her here, let alone found that harbor to wait out the devil storm.  You’d be dead already.

‘No worry, Sire.  Karma,’ Uraga was saying.

‘Aye.  Karma.’  Then Blackthorne heard danger seaward and his body moved before his mind ordered it and he was twisting as the arrow swooshed past, missed him fractionally to shudder into the bulkhead.  He lunged at Uraga to pull him down to safety as another arrow of the same volley hissed into Uraga’s throat, impaling him, and then they were both cowering in safety on the deck, Uraga shrieking and samurai shouting and peering over the gunwale out to sea.  Grays from the shore guard poured aboard.  Another volley came out of the night from the sea and everyone scattered for cover.  Blackthorne crawled to the gunwale and peeped through a scupper and saw a nearby fishing boat dousing its flare to vanish into the darkness.  All the boats were doing the same, and for a split second he saw scullers pulling away frantically, light glinting off swords and bows.

Uraga’s shrieking subsided into a burbling, gut-shattering agony as Grays rushed on to the quarterdeck, bows ready, the whole ship now in an uproar.  Vinck came on deck fast, pistol ready, ducked over as he ran. ‘Christ, what’s going on—you all right, Pilot?’

‘Yes.  Watch out—they’re in the fishing boats!’  Blackthorne slithered back to Uraga, who was clawing at the shaft, blood seeping from his nose and mouth and ears.

‘Jesus,’ Vinck gasped.

Blackthorne took hold of the arrow’s barb with one hand and put his other on the warm, pulsing flesh and pulled with all his strength.  The arrow came out cleanly but in its wake blood gushed in a pumping stream.  Uraga began to choke.

Now Grays and Blackthorne’s own samurai surrounded them.  Some had brought shields and they covered Blackthorne, heedless of their own safety.  Others quaked in safety though the danger was over.  Others were raging at the night, firing at the night, ordering the vanished fishing boats back.

Blackthorne held Uraga in his arms helplessly, knowing there was something he should do but not knowing what, knowing nothing could be done, the frantic sick-sweet-death smell clogging his nostrils, his brain shrieking as always, ‘Christ Jesus, thank God it’s not my blood, not mine, thank God.’

He saw Uraga’s eyes begging, the mouth working with no sound but choking, the chest heaving, then he saw his own fingers move of themselves and they made the sign of the cross before the eyes and he felt Uraga’s body shuddering, fluttering, the mouth howling soundlessly, reminding him of any one of the impaled fish.

It took Uraga a hideous time to die.