Shōgun by James Clavell
“Please excuse me, Sire,” she said shakily, “but my religion has never interfered with my loyalty to you. I’ve always kept my religion a private matter, all the time. How have I failed you?”
“You haven’t yet. But you will.”
“Tell me what I must do to please you.”
“The Christians may become my enemies, neh?”
“Your enemies are mine, Lord.”
“The priests oppose me now. They may order all Christians to war on me.”
“They can’t, Sire. They’re men of peace.”
“And if they continue to oppose me? If Christians war on me?”
“You will never have to fear my loyalty. Never.”
“This Anjin-san may speak the truth and your priests with false tongues.”
“There are good priests and bad priests, Sire. But you are my liege lord.”
“Very well, Mariko-san,” Toranaga said. “I’ll accept that. You’re ordered to become friends with this barbarian, to learn all he knows, to report everything he says, to learn to think like him, to ‘confess’ nothing about what you’re doing, to treat all priests with suspicion, to report everything the priests ask you or say to you. Your God must fit in between, elsewhere—or not at all.”
Mariko pushed a thread of hair out of her eyes. “I can do all that, Sire, and still remain Christian. I swear it.”
“Good. Swear it by this Christian God.”
“Before God I swear it.”
“Good.” Toranaga turned and called out, “Fujiko-san!”
“Yes, Sire?”
“Did you bring maids with you?”
“Yes, Sire. Two.”
“Give one to Mariko-san. Send the other for cha.”
“There’s saké if you wish.”
“Cha. Yabu-san, would you like cha or saké?”
“Cha, please.”
“Bring saké for the Anjin-san.”
Light caught the little golden crucifix that hung from Mariko’s neck. She saw Toranaga stare at it. “You … you wish me not to wear it, Sire? To throw it away?”
“No,” he said. “Wear it as a reminder of your oath.”
They all watched the frigate. Toranaga felt someone looking at him and glanced around. He saw the hard face and cold blue eyes and felt the hate—no, not hate, the suspicion. How dare the barbarian be suspicious of me, he thought.
“Ask the Anjin-san why didn’t he just say there’re plenty of cannon on the barbarian ship? Get them to escort us out of the trap?”
Mariko translated. Blackthorne answered.
“He says …” Mariko hesitated, then continued in a rush, “Please excuse me, he said, ‘It’s good for him to use his own head.’”
Toranaga laughed. “Thank him for his. It’s been most useful. I hope it stays on his shoulders. Tell him that now we’re equal.”
“He says, ‘No, we’re not equal, Toranaga-sama. But give me my ship and a crew and I’ll wipe the seas clean. Of any enemy.’”
“Mariko-san, do you think he meant me as well as the others—the Spanish and the Southern Barbarians?” The question was put lightly.
The breeze wafted strands of hair into her eyes. She pushed them away tiredly. “I don’t know, so sorry. Perhaps, perhaps not. Do you want me to ask him? I’m sorry, but he’s a … he’s very strange. I’m afraid I don’t understand him. Not at all.”
“We’ve plenty of time. Yes. In time he’ll explain himself to us.”
Blackthorne had seen the frigate quietly slip her moorings the moment her escort of Grays had hurried away, had watched her launch her longboat, which had quickly warped the ship away from her berth at the jetty, well out into the stream. Now she lay a few cables offshore in deep water, safe, a light bow anchor holding her gently, broadside to the shore. This was the normal maneuver of all European ships in alien or hostile harbors when a shore danger threatened. He knew, too, that though there was—and had been—no untoward movement on deck, by now all cannon would be primed, muskets issued, grape, cannonball, and chainshot ready in abundance, cutlasses waiting in their racks—and armed men aloft in the shrouds. Eyes would be searching all points of the compass. The galley would have been marked the moment it had changed course. The two stern chasers, thirty pounders, which were pointing directly at them, would be trained on them. Portuguese gunners were the best in the world, after the English.
And they’ll know about Toranaga, he told himself with great bitterness, because they’re clever and they’d have asked their porters or the Grays what all the trouble was about. Or by now the God-cursed Jesuits who know everything would have sent word about Toranaga’s escape, and about me.
He could feel his short hairs curling. Any one of those guns can blow us to hell. Yes, but we’re safe because Toranaga’s aboard. Thank God for Toranaga.
Mariko was saying, “My Master asks what is your custom when you want to approach a warship?”
“If you had cannon you’d fire a salute. Or you can signal with flags, asking permission to come alongside.”
“My Master says, and if you have no flags?”
Though they were still outside cannon range it was almost, to Blackthorne, as if he were already climbing down one of the barrels, though the gunports were still closed. The ship carried eight cannon a side on her main deck, two at the stern and two at the bow. Erasmus could take her, he told himself, without a doubt, providing the crew was right. I’d like to take her. Wake up, stop daydreaming, we’re not aboard Erasmus but this sow-gutted galley and that Portuguese ship’s the only hope we have. Under her guns we’re safe. Bless your luck for Toranaga.
“Tell the captain to break out Toranaga’s flag at the masthead. That’ll be enough, senhora. That’ll make it formal and tell them who’s aboard, but I’d bet they know already.”
This was done quickly. Everyone in the galley seemed to be more confident now. Blackthorne marked the change. Even he felt better under the flag.
“My Master says, but how do we tell them we wish to go alongside?”
“Tell him without signal flags he has two choices: he waits outside cannon range and sends a deputation aboard her in a small boat, or we go directly within hailing distance.”
“My Master says, which do you advise?”
“Go straight alongside. There’s no reason for caution. Lord Toranaga’s aboard. He’s the most important daimyo in the Empire. Of course she’ll help us and—Oh Jesu God!”
“Senhor?”
But he did not reply, so she quickly translated what had been said and listened to Toranaga’s next question. “My Master asks, the frigate will what? Please explain your thought and the reason you stopped.”
“I suddenly realized, he’s at war with Ishido now. Isn’t he? So the frigate may not be inclined to help him.”
“Of course they’ll help him.”
“No. Which side benefits the Portuguese more, Lord Toranaga or Ishido? If they believe Ishido will, they’ll blow us to hell out of the water.”
“It’s unthinkable that the Portuguese would fire on any Japanese ship,” Mariko said at once.
“Believe me, they will, senhora. And I’ll bet that frigate won’t let us alongside. I wouldn’t if I were her pilot. Christ Jesus!” Blackthorne stared ashore.
The taunting Grays had left the jetty now and were spreading out parallel to the shore. No chance there, he thought. The fishing boats still lay malevolently clogging the harbor’s neck. No chance there either. “Tell Toranaga there’s only one other way to get out of the harbor. That’s to hope for a storm. Maybe we could ride it out, where the fishing boats can’t. Then we could slip past the net.”
Toranaga questioned the captain, who answered at length, then Mariko said to Blackthorne, “My Master asks, do you think there’ll be a storm?”
“My nose says yes. But not for days. Two or three. Can we wait that long?”
“Your nose tells you? There is a smell to a storm?”
“No, senhora. It’s just an expression.”
r /> Toranaga pondered. Then he gave an order.
“We are going to within hailing distance, Anjin-san.”
“Then tell him to go directly astern of her. That way we’re the smallest target. Tell him they’re treacherous—I know how seriously treacherous they are when their interests are threatened. They’re worse than the Dutch! If that ship helps Toranaga escape, Ishido will take it out on all Portuguese and they won’t risk that.”
“My Master says we’ll soon have that answer.”
“We’re naked, senhora. We’ve no chance against those cannon. If the ship’s hostile—even if it’s simply neutral—we’re sunk.”
“My Master says, yes, but it will be your duty to persuade them to be benevolent.”
“How can I do that? I’m their enemy.”
“My Master says, in war and in peace, a good enemy can be more valuable than a good ally. He says you will know their minds—you will think of a way to persuade them.”
“The only sure way’s by force.”
“Good. I agree, my Master says. Please tell me how you would pirate that ship.”
“What?”
“He said, good, I agree. How would you pirate the ship, how would you conquer it? I require the use of their cannon. So sorry, isn’t that clear, Anjin-san?”
“And again I say I’m going to blow her out of the water,” Ferriera, the Captain-General, declared.
“No,” dell’Aqua replied, watching the galley from the quarter-deck.
“Gunner, is she in range yet?”
“No, Don Ferriera,” the chief gunner replied. “Not yet.”
“Why else is she coming at us if not for hostile reasons, Eminence? Why doesn’t she just escape? The way’s clear.” The frigate was too far from the harbor mouth for anyone aboard to see the encroaching fishing boats crowding in ambush.
“We risk nothing, Eminence, and gain everything,” Ferriera said. “We pretend we didn’t know Toranaga was aboard. We thought the bandits—bandits led by the pirate heretic—were going to attack us. Don’t worry, it will be easy to provoke them once they’re in range.”
“No,” dell’Aqua ordered.
Father Alvito turned back from the gunwale. “The galley’s flying Toranaga’s flag, Captain-General.”
“False colors!” Ferriera added sardonically, “That’s the oldest sea trick in the world. We haven’t seen Toranaga. Perhaps he isn’t aboard.”
“No.”
“God’s death, war would be a catastrophe! It’ll hurt, if not ruin, the Black Ship’s voyage this year. I can’t afford that! I won’t have anything interfere with that!”
“Our finances are in a worse position than yours, Captain-General,” dell’Aqua rapped. “If we don’t trade this year, the Church is bankrupt, is that clear? We’ve had no funds from Goa or Lisbon for three years and the loss of last year’s profit…. God give me patience! I know better than you what’s at stake. The answer is no!”
Rodrigues was sitting painfully in his seachair, his leg in a splint resting on a padded stool that was lashed safe near the binnacle. “The Captain-General’s right, Eminence. Why should she come at us, if not to try something? Why not escape, eh? Eminence, we’ve a piss-cutting opportunity here.”
“Yes, and it is a military decision,” Ferriera said.
Alvito turned on him sharply. “No, his Eminence is arbiter in this, Captain-General. We must not hurt Toranaga. We must help him.”
Rodrigues said, “You’ve told me a dozen times that once war starts it’ll go on forever. War’s started, hasn’t it? We’ve seen it start. That’s got to hurt trade. With Toranaga dead the war’s over and all our interests are safe. I say blow the ship to hell.”
“We even get rid of the heretic,” Ferriera added, watching Rodrigues. “You prevent a war for the glory of God, and another heretic goes to torment.”
“It would be unwarranted interference in their politics,” dell’Aqua replied, avoiding the real reason.
“We interfere all the time. The Society of Jesus is famous for it. We’re not simple, thick-headed peasants!”
“I’m not suggesting you are. But while I’m aboard you will not sink that ship.”
“Then kindly go ashore.”
“The sooner the archmurderer is dead, the better, Eminence,” Rodrigues suggested. “Him or Ishido, what’s the difference? They’re both heathen, and you can’t trust either of them. The Captain-General’s right, we’ll never get an opportunity like this again. And what about our Black Ship?” Rodrigues was pilot with a fifteenth part of all the profit. The real pilot of the Black Ship had died of the pox in Macao three months ago and Rodrigues had been taken off his own ship, the Santa Theresa, and given the new post, to his everlasting joy. Pox was the official reason, Rodrigues reminded himself grimly, though many said the other pilot was knifed in the back by a ronin in a whorehouse brawl. By God, this is my great chance. Nothing’s going to interfere with that!
“I will accept full responsibility,” Ferriera was saying. “It’s a military decision. We’re involved in a native war. My ship’s in danger.” He turned again to the chief gunner. “Are they in range yet?”
“Well, Don Ferriera, that depends what you wish.” The chief gunner blew on the end of the taper, which made it glow and spark. “I could take off her bow now, or her stern, or hit her amidships, whichever you prefer. But if you want a man dead, a particular man, then a moment or two would bring them into killing range.”
“I want Toranaga dead. And the heretic.”
“You mean the Ingeles, the pilot?”
“Yes.”
“Someone will have to point the Jappo out. The pilot I’ll recognize, doubtless.”
Rodrigues said, “If the pilot’s got to die to kill Toranaga and stop the war then I’m for it, Captain-General. Otherwise he should be spared.”
“He’s a heretic, an enemy of our country, an abomination, and he’s already caused us more trouble than a nest of vipers.”
“I’ve already pointed out that first the Ingeles is a pilot and last he’s a pilot, one of the best in the world.”
“Pilots should have special privileges? Even heretics?”
“Yes, by God. We should use him like they use us. It’d be a God-cursed waste to kill such experience. Without pilots there’s no piss-cutting Empire and no trade and no nothing. Without me, by God, there’s no Black Ship and no profit and no way home, so my opinion’s God-cursed important.”
There was a cry from the masthead, “Ho on the quarterdeck, the galley’s changing her course!” The galley had been heading straight for them but now she had swung a few points to port, out into the harbor.
Immediately Rodrigues shouted, “Action stations! Starboard watch aloft—all sails ho! Up anchor!” At once men rushed to obey.
“What’s amiss, Rodrigues?”
“I don’t know, Captain-General, but we’re getting out into open sea. That fat-gutted whore’s going to windward.”
“What does that matter? We can sink them at any time,” Ferriera said. “We’ve stores still to bring aboard and the Fathers have to go back to Osaka.”
“Aye. But no hostile’s getting to windward of my ship. That whore doesn’t depend on the wind, she can go against it. She might be coming round to hack at us from our bow where we’ve only one cannon and board us!”
Ferriera laughed contemptuously. “We’ve twenty cannon aboard! They’ve none! You think that filthy heathen pig boat would dare to try to attack us? You’re simple in the head!”
“Yes, Captain-General, that’s why I’ve still got one. The Santa Theresa’s ordered to sea!”
The sails were crackling out of their ropes and the wind took them, the spars grinding. Both watches were on deck at battle stations. The frigate began to make way but her going was slow. “Come on, you bitch,” Rodrigues urged.
“We’re ready, Don Ferriera,” the chief gunner said. “I’ve got her in my sights. I can’t hold her for long. Which is this Toranaga?
Point him out!”
There were no flares aboard the galley; the only illumination came from the moonlight. The galley was still astern, a hundred yards off, but turned to port now and headed for the far shore, the oars dipping and falling in unbroken rhythm. “Is that the pilot? The tall man on the quarterdeck?”
“Yes,” Rodrigues said.
“Manuel and Perdito! Take him and the quarterdeck!” The cannon nearest made slight adjustments. “Which is this Toranaga? Quickly! Helmsmen, two points to starboard!”
“Two points to starboard it is, Gunner!”
Conscious of the sanding bottom and the shoals nearby, Rodrigues was watching the shrouds, ready at any second to override the chief gunner, who by custom had the con on a stern cannonade. “Ho, port maindeck cannon!” the gunner shouted. “Once we’ve fired we’ll let her fall off the wind. Drop all gun ports, prepare for a broadside!” The gun crews obeyed, their eyes going to the officers on the quarterdeck. And the priests. “For the love of God, Don Ferriera, which is this Toranaga?”
“Which is he, Father?” Ferriera had never seen him before.
Rodrigues had recognized Toranaga clearly on the foredeck in a ring of samurai, but he did not want to be the one to put the mark on him. Let the priests do that, he thought. Go on, Father, play the Judas. Why should we always do all the pox-foul work, not that I care a chipped doubloon for that heathen son of a whore.
Both priests were silent.
“Quick, which would Toranaga be?” the gunner asked again.
Impatiently Rodrigues pointed him out. “There, on the poop. The short, thickset bastard in the middle of those other heathen bastards.”
“I see him, Senhor Pilot.”
The gun crews made last slight adjustments.
Ferriera took the taper out of the gunner’s mate’s hand.
“Are you trained on the heretic?”
“Yes, Captain-General, are you ready? I’ll drop my hand. That’s the signal!”
“Good.”
“Thou shalt not kill!” It was dell’Aqua.
Ferriera whirled on him. “They’re heathens and heretics!”
“There are Christians among them and even if there weren’t—”
“Pay no attention to him, Gunner!” the Captain-General snarled. “We fire when you’re ready!”
“You haven’t yet. But you will.”
“Tell me what I must do to please you.”
“The Christians may become my enemies, neh?”
“Your enemies are mine, Lord.”
“The priests oppose me now. They may order all Christians to war on me.”
“They can’t, Sire. They’re men of peace.”
“And if they continue to oppose me? If Christians war on me?”
“You will never have to fear my loyalty. Never.”
“This Anjin-san may speak the truth and your priests with false tongues.”
“There are good priests and bad priests, Sire. But you are my liege lord.”
“Very well, Mariko-san,” Toranaga said. “I’ll accept that. You’re ordered to become friends with this barbarian, to learn all he knows, to report everything he says, to learn to think like him, to ‘confess’ nothing about what you’re doing, to treat all priests with suspicion, to report everything the priests ask you or say to you. Your God must fit in between, elsewhere—or not at all.”
Mariko pushed a thread of hair out of her eyes. “I can do all that, Sire, and still remain Christian. I swear it.”
“Good. Swear it by this Christian God.”
“Before God I swear it.”
“Good.” Toranaga turned and called out, “Fujiko-san!”
“Yes, Sire?”
“Did you bring maids with you?”
“Yes, Sire. Two.”
“Give one to Mariko-san. Send the other for cha.”
“There’s saké if you wish.”
“Cha. Yabu-san, would you like cha or saké?”
“Cha, please.”
“Bring saké for the Anjin-san.”
Light caught the little golden crucifix that hung from Mariko’s neck. She saw Toranaga stare at it. “You … you wish me not to wear it, Sire? To throw it away?”
“No,” he said. “Wear it as a reminder of your oath.”
They all watched the frigate. Toranaga felt someone looking at him and glanced around. He saw the hard face and cold blue eyes and felt the hate—no, not hate, the suspicion. How dare the barbarian be suspicious of me, he thought.
“Ask the Anjin-san why didn’t he just say there’re plenty of cannon on the barbarian ship? Get them to escort us out of the trap?”
Mariko translated. Blackthorne answered.
“He says …” Mariko hesitated, then continued in a rush, “Please excuse me, he said, ‘It’s good for him to use his own head.’”
Toranaga laughed. “Thank him for his. It’s been most useful. I hope it stays on his shoulders. Tell him that now we’re equal.”
“He says, ‘No, we’re not equal, Toranaga-sama. But give me my ship and a crew and I’ll wipe the seas clean. Of any enemy.’”
“Mariko-san, do you think he meant me as well as the others—the Spanish and the Southern Barbarians?” The question was put lightly.
The breeze wafted strands of hair into her eyes. She pushed them away tiredly. “I don’t know, so sorry. Perhaps, perhaps not. Do you want me to ask him? I’m sorry, but he’s a … he’s very strange. I’m afraid I don’t understand him. Not at all.”
“We’ve plenty of time. Yes. In time he’ll explain himself to us.”
Blackthorne had seen the frigate quietly slip her moorings the moment her escort of Grays had hurried away, had watched her launch her longboat, which had quickly warped the ship away from her berth at the jetty, well out into the stream. Now she lay a few cables offshore in deep water, safe, a light bow anchor holding her gently, broadside to the shore. This was the normal maneuver of all European ships in alien or hostile harbors when a shore danger threatened. He knew, too, that though there was—and had been—no untoward movement on deck, by now all cannon would be primed, muskets issued, grape, cannonball, and chainshot ready in abundance, cutlasses waiting in their racks—and armed men aloft in the shrouds. Eyes would be searching all points of the compass. The galley would have been marked the moment it had changed course. The two stern chasers, thirty pounders, which were pointing directly at them, would be trained on them. Portuguese gunners were the best in the world, after the English.
And they’ll know about Toranaga, he told himself with great bitterness, because they’re clever and they’d have asked their porters or the Grays what all the trouble was about. Or by now the God-cursed Jesuits who know everything would have sent word about Toranaga’s escape, and about me.
He could feel his short hairs curling. Any one of those guns can blow us to hell. Yes, but we’re safe because Toranaga’s aboard. Thank God for Toranaga.
Mariko was saying, “My Master asks what is your custom when you want to approach a warship?”
“If you had cannon you’d fire a salute. Or you can signal with flags, asking permission to come alongside.”
“My Master says, and if you have no flags?”
Though they were still outside cannon range it was almost, to Blackthorne, as if he were already climbing down one of the barrels, though the gunports were still closed. The ship carried eight cannon a side on her main deck, two at the stern and two at the bow. Erasmus could take her, he told himself, without a doubt, providing the crew was right. I’d like to take her. Wake up, stop daydreaming, we’re not aboard Erasmus but this sow-gutted galley and that Portuguese ship’s the only hope we have. Under her guns we’re safe. Bless your luck for Toranaga.
“Tell the captain to break out Toranaga’s flag at the masthead. That’ll be enough, senhora. That’ll make it formal and tell them who’s aboard, but I’d bet they know already.”
This was done quickly. Everyone in the galley seemed to be more confident now. Blackthorne marked the change. Even he felt better under the flag.
“My Master says, but how do we tell them we wish to go alongside?”
“Tell him without signal flags he has two choices: he waits outside cannon range and sends a deputation aboard her in a small boat, or we go directly within hailing distance.”
“My Master says, which do you advise?”
“Go straight alongside. There’s no reason for caution. Lord Toranaga’s aboard. He’s the most important daimyo in the Empire. Of course she’ll help us and—Oh Jesu God!”
“Senhor?”
But he did not reply, so she quickly translated what had been said and listened to Toranaga’s next question. “My Master asks, the frigate will what? Please explain your thought and the reason you stopped.”
“I suddenly realized, he’s at war with Ishido now. Isn’t he? So the frigate may not be inclined to help him.”
“Of course they’ll help him.”
“No. Which side benefits the Portuguese more, Lord Toranaga or Ishido? If they believe Ishido will, they’ll blow us to hell out of the water.”
“It’s unthinkable that the Portuguese would fire on any Japanese ship,” Mariko said at once.
“Believe me, they will, senhora. And I’ll bet that frigate won’t let us alongside. I wouldn’t if I were her pilot. Christ Jesus!” Blackthorne stared ashore.
The taunting Grays had left the jetty now and were spreading out parallel to the shore. No chance there, he thought. The fishing boats still lay malevolently clogging the harbor’s neck. No chance there either. “Tell Toranaga there’s only one other way to get out of the harbor. That’s to hope for a storm. Maybe we could ride it out, where the fishing boats can’t. Then we could slip past the net.”
Toranaga questioned the captain, who answered at length, then Mariko said to Blackthorne, “My Master asks, do you think there’ll be a storm?”
“My nose says yes. But not for days. Two or three. Can we wait that long?”
“Your nose tells you? There is a smell to a storm?”
“No, senhora. It’s just an expression.”
“We are going to within hailing distance, Anjin-san.”
“Then tell him to go directly astern of her. That way we’re the smallest target. Tell him they’re treacherous—I know how seriously treacherous they are when their interests are threatened. They’re worse than the Dutch! If that ship helps Toranaga escape, Ishido will take it out on all Portuguese and they won’t risk that.”
“My Master says we’ll soon have that answer.”
“We’re naked, senhora. We’ve no chance against those cannon. If the ship’s hostile—even if it’s simply neutral—we’re sunk.”
“My Master says, yes, but it will be your duty to persuade them to be benevolent.”
“How can I do that? I’m their enemy.”
“My Master says, in war and in peace, a good enemy can be more valuable than a good ally. He says you will know their minds—you will think of a way to persuade them.”
“The only sure way’s by force.”
“Good. I agree, my Master says. Please tell me how you would pirate that ship.”
“What?”
“He said, good, I agree. How would you pirate the ship, how would you conquer it? I require the use of their cannon. So sorry, isn’t that clear, Anjin-san?”
“And again I say I’m going to blow her out of the water,” Ferriera, the Captain-General, declared.
“No,” dell’Aqua replied, watching the galley from the quarter-deck.
“Gunner, is she in range yet?”
“No, Don Ferriera,” the chief gunner replied. “Not yet.”
“Why else is she coming at us if not for hostile reasons, Eminence? Why doesn’t she just escape? The way’s clear.” The frigate was too far from the harbor mouth for anyone aboard to see the encroaching fishing boats crowding in ambush.
“We risk nothing, Eminence, and gain everything,” Ferriera said. “We pretend we didn’t know Toranaga was aboard. We thought the bandits—bandits led by the pirate heretic—were going to attack us. Don’t worry, it will be easy to provoke them once they’re in range.”
“No,” dell’Aqua ordered.
Father Alvito turned back from the gunwale. “The galley’s flying Toranaga’s flag, Captain-General.”
“False colors!” Ferriera added sardonically, “That’s the oldest sea trick in the world. We haven’t seen Toranaga. Perhaps he isn’t aboard.”
“No.”
“God’s death, war would be a catastrophe! It’ll hurt, if not ruin, the Black Ship’s voyage this year. I can’t afford that! I won’t have anything interfere with that!”
“Our finances are in a worse position than yours, Captain-General,” dell’Aqua rapped. “If we don’t trade this year, the Church is bankrupt, is that clear? We’ve had no funds from Goa or Lisbon for three years and the loss of last year’s profit…. God give me patience! I know better than you what’s at stake. The answer is no!”
Rodrigues was sitting painfully in his seachair, his leg in a splint resting on a padded stool that was lashed safe near the binnacle. “The Captain-General’s right, Eminence. Why should she come at us, if not to try something? Why not escape, eh? Eminence, we’ve a piss-cutting opportunity here.”
“Yes, and it is a military decision,” Ferriera said.
Alvito turned on him sharply. “No, his Eminence is arbiter in this, Captain-General. We must not hurt Toranaga. We must help him.”
Rodrigues said, “You’ve told me a dozen times that once war starts it’ll go on forever. War’s started, hasn’t it? We’ve seen it start. That’s got to hurt trade. With Toranaga dead the war’s over and all our interests are safe. I say blow the ship to hell.”
“We even get rid of the heretic,” Ferriera added, watching Rodrigues. “You prevent a war for the glory of God, and another heretic goes to torment.”
“It would be unwarranted interference in their politics,” dell’Aqua replied, avoiding the real reason.
“We interfere all the time. The Society of Jesus is famous for it. We’re not simple, thick-headed peasants!”
“I’m not suggesting you are. But while I’m aboard you will not sink that ship.”
“Then kindly go ashore.”
“The sooner the archmurderer is dead, the better, Eminence,” Rodrigues suggested. “Him or Ishido, what’s the difference? They’re both heathen, and you can’t trust either of them. The Captain-General’s right, we’ll never get an opportunity like this again. And what about our Black Ship?” Rodrigues was pilot with a fifteenth part of all the profit. The real pilot of the Black Ship had died of the pox in Macao three months ago and Rodrigues had been taken off his own ship, the Santa Theresa, and given the new post, to his everlasting joy. Pox was the official reason, Rodrigues reminded himself grimly, though many said the other pilot was knifed in the back by a ronin in a whorehouse brawl. By God, this is my great chance. Nothing’s going to interfere with that!
“I will accept full responsibility,” Ferriera was saying. “It’s a military decision. We’re involved in a native war. My ship’s in danger.” He turned again to the chief gunner. “Are they in range yet?”
“Well, Don Ferriera, that depends what you wish.” The chief gunner blew on the end of the taper, which made it glow and spark. “I could take off her bow now, or her stern, or hit her amidships, whichever you prefer. But if you want a man dead, a particular man, then a moment or two would bring them into killing range.”
“I want Toranaga dead. And the heretic.”
“You mean the Ingeles, the pilot?”
“Yes.”
“Someone will have to point the Jappo out. The pilot I’ll recognize, doubtless.”
Rodrigues said, “If the pilot’s got to die to kill Toranaga and stop the war then I’m for it, Captain-General. Otherwise he should be spared.”
“He’s a heretic, an enemy of our country, an abomination, and he’s already caused us more trouble than a nest of vipers.”
“I’ve already pointed out that first the Ingeles is a pilot and last he’s a pilot, one of the best in the world.”
“Pilots should have special privileges? Even heretics?”
“Yes, by God. We should use him like they use us. It’d be a God-cursed waste to kill such experience. Without pilots there’s no piss-cutting Empire and no trade and no nothing. Without me, by God, there’s no Black Ship and no profit and no way home, so my opinion’s God-cursed important.”
There was a cry from the masthead, “Ho on the quarterdeck, the galley’s changing her course!” The galley had been heading straight for them but now she had swung a few points to port, out into the harbor.
Immediately Rodrigues shouted, “Action stations! Starboard watch aloft—all sails ho! Up anchor!” At once men rushed to obey.
“What’s amiss, Rodrigues?”
“I don’t know, Captain-General, but we’re getting out into open sea. That fat-gutted whore’s going to windward.”
“What does that matter? We can sink them at any time,” Ferriera said. “We’ve stores still to bring aboard and the Fathers have to go back to Osaka.”
“Aye. But no hostile’s getting to windward of my ship. That whore doesn’t depend on the wind, she can go against it. She might be coming round to hack at us from our bow where we’ve only one cannon and board us!”
Ferriera laughed contemptuously. “We’ve twenty cannon aboard! They’ve none! You think that filthy heathen pig boat would dare to try to attack us? You’re simple in the head!”
“Yes, Captain-General, that’s why I’ve still got one. The Santa Theresa’s ordered to sea!”
The sails were crackling out of their ropes and the wind took them, the spars grinding. Both watches were on deck at battle stations. The frigate began to make way but her going was slow. “Come on, you bitch,” Rodrigues urged.
“We’re ready, Don Ferriera,” the chief gunner said. “I’ve got her in my sights. I can’t hold her for long. Which is this Toranaga?
There were no flares aboard the galley; the only illumination came from the moonlight. The galley was still astern, a hundred yards off, but turned to port now and headed for the far shore, the oars dipping and falling in unbroken rhythm. “Is that the pilot? The tall man on the quarterdeck?”
“Yes,” Rodrigues said.
“Manuel and Perdito! Take him and the quarterdeck!” The cannon nearest made slight adjustments. “Which is this Toranaga? Quickly! Helmsmen, two points to starboard!”
“Two points to starboard it is, Gunner!”
Conscious of the sanding bottom and the shoals nearby, Rodrigues was watching the shrouds, ready at any second to override the chief gunner, who by custom had the con on a stern cannonade. “Ho, port maindeck cannon!” the gunner shouted. “Once we’ve fired we’ll let her fall off the wind. Drop all gun ports, prepare for a broadside!” The gun crews obeyed, their eyes going to the officers on the quarterdeck. And the priests. “For the love of God, Don Ferriera, which is this Toranaga?”
“Which is he, Father?” Ferriera had never seen him before.
Rodrigues had recognized Toranaga clearly on the foredeck in a ring of samurai, but he did not want to be the one to put the mark on him. Let the priests do that, he thought. Go on, Father, play the Judas. Why should we always do all the pox-foul work, not that I care a chipped doubloon for that heathen son of a whore.
Both priests were silent.
“Quick, which would Toranaga be?” the gunner asked again.
Impatiently Rodrigues pointed him out. “There, on the poop. The short, thickset bastard in the middle of those other heathen bastards.”
“I see him, Senhor Pilot.”
The gun crews made last slight adjustments.
Ferriera took the taper out of the gunner’s mate’s hand.
“Are you trained on the heretic?”
“Yes, Captain-General, are you ready? I’ll drop my hand. That’s the signal!”
“Good.”
“Thou shalt not kill!” It was dell’Aqua.
Ferriera whirled on him. “They’re heathens and heretics!”
“There are Christians among them and even if there weren’t—”
“Pay no attention to him, Gunner!” the Captain-General snarled. “We fire when you’re ready!”