Shōgun by James Clavell
“Everyone is worthy in the sight of God.”
“Except me. I’m not worthy, Father.”
“You must confess, Maria. I cannot go on with your Mass—you must come before Him cleansed.”
She knelt. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned but I can only confess that I am not worthy to confess,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Compassionately Father Alvito put his hand lightly on her head. “Daughter of God, let me beg God’s forgiveness for thy sins. Let me in His name absolve thee and make thee whole in His sight.” He blessed her, and then he continued her Mass in this imaginary cathedral, under the breaking sky … the service more real and more beautiful than it had ever been, for him and for her.
Erasmus was anchored in the best storm harbor Blackthorne had ever seen, far enough from shore to give her plenty of sea room, yet close enough for safety. Six fathoms of clear water over a strong seabed were below, and except for the narrow neck of the entrance, high land all around that would keep any fleet snug from the ocean’s wrath.
The day’s journey from Yedo had been uneventful though tiring. Half a ri northward the galley was moored to a pier near Yokohama fishing village, and now they were alone aboard, Blackthorne and all his men, both Dutch and Japanese. Yabu and Naga were ashore inspecting the Musket Regiment and he had been told to join them shortly. Westward the sun was low on the horizon and the red sky promised another fine day tomorrow.
“Why now, Uraga-san?” Blackthorne was asking from the quarterdeck, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. He had just ordered the crew and everyone to stand down, and Uraga had asked him to delay for a moment to find out if there were any Christians among the vassals. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“No, Sire, so sorry.” Uraga was looking up at him in front of the assembled samurai vassals, the Dutch crew gathering into a nervous knot near the quarterdeck railing. “Please excuse me, but it is most important you find out at once. You are their most enemy. Therefore you must know, for your protection. I only wish to protect you. Not take long, neh?”
“Are they all on deck?”
“Yes, Sire.”
Blackthorne went closer to the railing and called out in Japanese, “Is anyone Christian?” There was no answer. “I order any Christian come forward.” No one moved. So he turned back to Uraga. “Set ten deck guards, then dismiss them.”
“With your permission, Anjin-san.” From under his kimono Uraga brought out a small painted icon that he had brought from Yedo and threw it face upward on the deck. Then, deliberately, he stamped on it. Blackthorne and the crew were greatly disquieted by the desecration. Except Jan Roper. “Please. Make every vassal do same,” Uraga said.
“Why?”
“I know Christians.” Uraga’s eyes were half hidden by the brim of his hat. “Please, Sire. Important every man do same. Now, tonight.”
“All right,” Blackthorne agreed reluctantly.
Uraga turned to the assembled vassals. “At my suggestion our Master requires each of us to do this.”
The samurai were grumbling among themselves and one interrupted, “We’ve already said that we’re not Christians, neh? What does stamping on a barbarian god picture prove? Nothing!”
“Christians are our Master’s enemy. Christians are treacherous—but Christians are Christian. Please excuse me, I know Christians—to my shame I forsook our real gods. So sorry, but I believe this is necessary for our Master’s safety.”
At once a samurai in front declared, “In that case, there’s nothing more to be said.” He came forward and stamped on the picture. “I worship no barbarian religion! Come on, the rest of you, do what’s asked!”
They came forward one by one. Blackthorne watched, despising the ceremony.
Van Nekk said worriedly, “Doesn’t seem right.”
Vinck looked up at the quarterdeck. “Sodding bastards. They’ll all cut our throats with never a thought. You sure you can trust ’em, Pilot?”
“Yes.”
Ginsel said, “No Catholic’d ever do that, eh, Johann? That Uragasama’s clever.”
“What’s it matter if those buggers’re Papist or not, they’re all shit-filled samurai.”
“Yes,” Croocq said.
“Even so, it’s not right to do that,” van Nekk repeated.
The samurai continued to stamp the icon into the deck one by one, and moved into loose groups. It was a tedious affair and Blackthorne was sorry he had agreed to it, for there were more important things to do before dusk. His eyes went to the village and the headlands. Hundreds of the thatch lean-tos of the Musket Regiment camp spotted the foothills. So much to do, he thought, anxious to go ashore, wanting to see the land, glorying in the fief Toranaga had given him which contained Yokohama. Lord God on high, he told himself, I’m lord of one of the greatest harbors in the world.
Abruptly a man bypassed the icon, tore out his sword, and leaped at Blackthorne. A dozen startled samurai jumped courageously in his way, screening the quarterdeck as Blackthorne spun around, a pistol cocked and aimed. Others scattered, shoving, stumbling, milling in the uproar. The samurai skidded to a halt, howling with rage, then changed direction and hacked at Uraga, who somehow managed to avoid the thrust. The man whirled as other samurai lunged at him, fought them off ferociously for a moment, then rushed for the side and threw himself overboard.
Four who could swim dropped their killing swords, put their short stabbing knives in their mouths, and jumped after him, the rest and the Dutchmen crowding the side.
Blackthorne jumped for the gunwale. He could see nothing below; then he caught sight of swirling shadows in the water. A man came up for air and went down again. Soon four heads surfaced. Between them was the corpse, a knife in his throat.
“So sorry, Anjin-san, it was his own knife,” one called up over the roars of the others.
“Uraga-san, tell them to search him, then leave him to the fish.”
The search revealed nothing. When all were back on deck, Blackthorne pointed at the icon with his cocked pistol. “All samurai—once more!” He was obeyed instantly and he made sure that every man passed the test. Then, because of Uraga, and to praise him, he ordered his crew to do the same. There was the beginning of a protest.
“Come on,” Blackthorne snarled. “Hurry up, or I’ll put my foot on your backs!”
“No need to say that, Pilot,” van Nekk said. “We’re not stinky pagan wogs!”
“They’re not stinky pagan wogs! They’re samurai, by God!”
They stared up at him. Anger, whipped by fear, rippled through them. Van Nekk began to say something but Ginsel butted in.
“Samurai’re heathen bastards and they—or men like ’em—murdered Pieterzoon, our Captain-General, and Maetsukker!”
“Yes, but without these samurai we’ll never get home—understand?”
Now all the samurai were watching. Ominously they moved nearer Blackthorne protectively. Van Nekk said, “Let it rest, eh? We’re all a bit touchy and overtired. It was a long night. We’re not our own masters here, none of us. Nor’s the Pilot. The Pilot knows what he’s doing—he’s the leader, he’s Captain-General now.”
“Yes, he is. But it’s not right for him to take their side over us, and by the Lord God, he’s not a king—we’re equal to him,” Jan Roper hissed. “Just because he’s armed like them and dressed like them and can talk to the sods doesn’t make him king over us. We’ve rights and that’s our law and his law, by the Lord God, even though he’s English. He swore Holy Oaths to abide by the rules—didn’t you, Pilot!”
“Yes,” Blackthorne said. “It’s our law in our seas—where we’re masters and in the majority. Now we’re not. So do what I tell you to do and do it fast.”
Muttering, they obeyed.
“Sonk! Did you find any grog?”
“Nosirnotagodcurseddribble!”
“I’ll get saké sent aboard.” Then, in Portuguese, Blackthorne added, “Uraga-san, you’ll come ashore with me a
“Hai, Anjin-san.”
“What’s your name?” he asked one of them, a tall, quiet man with a scarred cheek.
“Nawa Chisato, Lord.”
“You’re captain today. All ship. Until I return.”
“Yes, Lord.”
Blackthorne went to the gangway. A skiff was tied below.
“Where’re you going, Pilot?” van Nekk said anxiously.
“Ashore. I’ll be back later.”
“Good, we’ll all go!”
“By God I’ll come with—”
“And me. I’m go—”
“Christ Jesus, don’t leave me be—”
“No! I’m going alone!”
“But for God’s sake what about us!” van Nekk cried out. “What are we going to do? Don’t leave us, Pilot. What are—”
“You just wait!” Blackthorne told them. “I’ll see food and drink’s sent aboard.”
Ginsel squared up to Blackthorne. “I thought we were going back tonight. Why aren’t we going back tonight?”
“How long we going to stay here, Pilot, and how long—”
“Pilot, what about Yedo?” Ginsel asked louder. “How long we going to stay here, with these God-cursed monkeys?”
“Yes, monkeys, by God,” Sonk said happily. “What about our gear and our own folk?”
“Yes, what about our eters, Pilot? Our people and our doxies?”
“They’ll be there tomorrow.” Blackthorne pushed down his loathing. “Be patient, I’ll be back as soon as I can. Baccus, you’re in charge.” He turned to go.
“I’m going with you,” Jan Roper said truculently, following him. “We’re in harbor so we take precedence and I want some arms.”
Blackthorne turned on him and a dozen swords left their scabbards, ready to kill Jan Roper. “One more word out of you and you’re a dead man.” The tall, lean merchant flushed and came to a halt. “You curb your tongue near these samurai because any one of them’ll take your head before I can stop them just because of your goddamned bad manners—let alone anything else! They’re touchy, and near you I’m getting touchy, and you’ll get arms when you need them. Understand?”
Jan Roper nodded sullenly and backed off. The samurai were still menacing but Blackthorne quieted them, and ordered them, on pain of death, to leave his crew alone. “I’ll be back soon.” He walked down the gangway and got into the skiff, Uraga and another samurai following. Chisato, the captain, went up to Jan Roper, who quailed under the menace, bowed, and backed away.
When they were well away from the ship Blackthorne thanked Uraga for catching the traitor.
“Please, no thanks. It was only duty.”
Blackthorne said in Japanese so that the other man could understand, “Yes, duty. But your koku change now. Now not twenty, now one hundred a year.”
“Oh, Sire, thank you. I don’t deserve it. I was only doing my duty and I must—”
“Speak slowly. Don’t understand.”
Uraga apologized and said it slower.
Blackthorne praised him again, then settled more comfortably in the stern of the boat, his exhaustion overcoming him. He forced his eyes open and glanced back at his ship to reassure himself she was well placed. Van Nekk and the others were at the gunwale and he was sorry that he had brought them aboard though he knew he had had no option. Without them the journey would not have been safe.
Mutinous scum, he thought. What the hell do I do about them? All my vassals know about the eta village and they’re all as disgusted as…. Christ Jesus, what a mess! Karma, neh?
He slept. As the skiff nosed into the shore near the pier he awoke. At first he could not remember where he was. He had been dreaming he was back in the castle in Mariko’s arms, just like last night.
Last night they had been lying in half-sleep after loving, Fujiko a party to the loving, Chimmoko on guard, when Yabu and his samurai had pounded on the door post. The evening had begun so pleasingly. Fujiko had also discreetly invited Kiku, and never had he seen her more beautiful and exuberant. As bells ended the Hour of the Boar, Mariko had punctually arrived. There had been merriment and saké but soon Mariko had shattered the spell.
“So sorry, but you’re in great danger, Anjin-san.” She explained, and when she had added what Gyoko had said about not trusting Uraga, both Kiku and Fujiko were equally perturbed.
“Please don’t worry. I’ll watch him, never fear,” he had reassured them.
Mariko had continued, “Perhaps you should watch Yabu-sama too, Anjin-san.”
“What?”
“This afternoon I saw the hatred in your face. So did he.”
“Never mind,” he had said. “Shigata ga nai, neh?”
“No. So sorry, it was a mistake. Why did you call your men off when they had Yabu-sama surrounded at first? Surely that was a bad mistake too. They would have killed him quickly and your enemy would have been dead without risk to you.”
“That wouldn’t have been right, Mariko-san. So many men against one. Not fair.”
Mariko had explained to Fujiko and Kiku what he had said. “Please excuse me, Anjin-san, but we all believe that is a very dangerous way of thinking and beg you to forsake it. It’s quite wrong and very naïve. Please excuse me for being so blunt. Yabu-san will destroy you.”
“No. Not yet. I’m still too important to him. And to Omi-san.”
“Kiku-san says, please tell the Anjin-san to beware of Yabu—and this Uraga. The Anjin-san may find it difficult to judge ‘importance’ here, neh?”
“Yes, I agree with Kiku-san,” Fujiko had said.
Later Kiku had left to go and entertain Toranaga. Then Mariko broke the peace in the room again. “Tonight I must say sayonara, Anjin-san. I am leaving at dawn.”
“No, there’s no need now,” he had said. “That can all be changed now. I’ll see Toranaga tomorrow. Now that I’ve permission to leave, I’ll take you to Osaka. I’ll get a galley, or coastal boat. At Nagasa—”
“No, Anjin-san. So sorry, I must leave as ordered.” No amount of persuasion would touch her.
He had felt Fujiko watching him in the silence, his heart aching with the thought of Mariko leaving. He had looked across at Fujiko. She asked them to excuse her for a moment. She closed the shoji behind her and they were alone and they knew that Fujiko would not return, that they were safe for a little time. Their loving was urgent and violent. Then there were voices and footsteps and barely enough time to become composed before Fujiko joined them through the inner door and Yabu strode in, bringing Toranaga’s orders for an immediate, secret departure. “… Yokohama, then Osaka for a brief stop, Anjin-san, on again to Nagasaki, back to Osaka, and home here again! I’ve sent for your crew to report to the ship.”
Excitement had rushed through him at this heaven-sent victory. “Yes, Yabu-san. But Mariko-san—Mariko-san go Osaka also, neh? Better with us—quicker, safer, neh?”
“Not possible, so sorry. Must hurry. Come along! Tide—understand ‘tide,’ Anjin-san?”
“Hai, Yabu-san. But Mariko-san go Osaka—”
“So sorry, she has orders like we have orders. Mariko-san! Explain to him. Tell him to hurry!”
Yabu had been inflexible, and so late at night it was impossible to go to Toranaga to ask him to rescind the order. There had been no time or privacy to talk any more with Mariko or Fujiko, other than to say formal good-bys. But they would meet soon in Osaka. “Very soon, Anjin-san,” Mariko had said….
“Lord God, don’t let me lose her,” Blackthorne said, the sea gulls cawing above the beach, their cries intensifying his loneliness.
“Lose who, Sire?”
Blackthorne came back into reality. He pointed at the distant ship. “We call ships her—we think of ships as female, not male. Wakarimasu ka?”
“Hai.”
Blackthorne could still see the
“Even me, Anjin-san,” she had said last night.
“No, Mariko-chan. Not you.”
“You said we’re your enemy, this afternoon.”
“I said most Catholics are my enemies.”
“They will kill you if they can.”
“Yes. But thou … will we truly meet in Osaka?”
“Yes. I love thee. Anjin-san, remember, beware of Yabu-san.…”
They were all right about Yabu, Blackthorne thought, whatever he says, whatever he promises. I made a bad mistake calling my men off when he was trapped. That bastard’ll cut my throat as soon as I’ve outlived my usefulness, however much he pretends otherwise. And yet Yabu’s right too: I need him. I’ll never get into Nagasaki and out again without protection. He could surely help to persuade Toranaga. With him leading two thousand more fanatics, we could lay waste all Nagasaki and maybe even Macao….
Madonna! Alone I’m helpless.
Then he remembered what Gyoko had told Mariko about Uraga, about not trusting him. Gyoko was wrong about him, he thought. What else is she wrong about?
BOOK FIVE
CHAPTER 52
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.”