Shogun (145 page)

Grays in abundance were at every intersection, covering every battlement, in a vast show of Ishido strength, for every
daimyo
and general and every samurai officer of importance in Osaka had been invited tonight to the Great Hall that the Taikō had built within the inner ring of fortifications. The sun was down and night arriving quickly.

It’s terrible luck to lose Uraga, Blackthorne was thinking, still not knowing if the attack had been against Uraga or himself. I’ve lost the best source of knowledge I could ever have.

“At noon you go castle, Anjin-san,” Yabu had said this morning, when he had returned to the galley. “Grays come for you. You understand?”

“Yes, Yabu-sama.”

“Quite safe now. Sorry about attack.
Shigata ga nai!
Grays take you safe place. Tonight you stay in castle. Toranaga part of castle. Also next day we go Nagasaki.”

“We have permission?” he had asked.

Yabu shook his head with exasperation. “Pretend go Mishima to collect Lord Hiro-matsu. Also Lord Sudara and family. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Sleep now, Anjin-san. Don’t worry about attack. Now all boats ordered stay away from here. It’s
kinjiru
here now.”

“I understand. Please excuse me, what happens tonight? Why me to castle?”

Yabu had smiled his twisted smile and told him he was on show, that Ishido was curious to see him again. “As a guest you’ll be safe,” and he had left the galley once more.

Blackthorne had gone below, leaving Vinck on watch, but the moment he was deeply asleep Vinck was tugging him awake and he rushed on deck again.

A small Portuguese twenty-cannon frigate was barreling into harbor, the bit between her teeth, heeled over under a full press of canvas.

“Bastard’s in a hurry,” Vinck said, quaking.

“Got to be Rodrigues. No one else’d come in with all that sail.”

“If I was you, Pilot, I’d get us the hell away from here on the tide, or without the tide. Christ Jesus, we’re like moths in a grog bottle. Let’s get out—”

“We stay! Can’t you get it through your head? We stay until we’re allowed to leave. We stay until Ishido says we can go even if the Pope and the King of Spain come ashore together with the whole God-cursed Armada!”

Again he had gone below but sleep had avoided him. At noon, Grays arrived. Heavily escorted, he went with them to the castle. They wound through the city passing the execution ground, the five crosses still there, figures still being tied up and taken down, each cross with its two spearsmen, the crowd watching. He had relived that agony and the terror of the ambush, and the feel of his hand on the hilt of his sword, the kimono about him, his own vassals with him, did not lessen his dread.

The Grays had guided him to Toranaga’s part of the castle that he had visited the first time, where Kiritsubo and the Lady Sazuko and her child were still ensconced, along with the remainder of Toranaga’s samurai. There he had had a bath and found the new clothes that had been laid out for him.

“Is Lady Mariko here?”

“No, Sire, so sorry,” the servant had told him.

“Then where can I find her, please? I have urgent message.”

“So sorry, Anjin-san, I don’t know. Please excuse me.”

None of the servants would help him. All said, “So sorry, I don’t know.”

He had dressed, then referred to his dictionary, remembering key words that he would need and prepared as best he could. Then he went into the garden to watch the rocks growing. But they never grew.

Now he was walking across the innermost moat. Flares were everywhere.

He shook off his anxiety and stepped out onto the wooden bridge. Other guests with Grays were all around heading the same way. He could feel them watching him covertly.

His feet took him under the final portcullis and his Grays led through the maze again up to the huge door. Here they left him. So did his own men. They went to one side with other samurai to await him. He went forward into the flare-lit maw.

It was an immense, high-raftered room with a golden ornamented ceiling. Gold-paneled columns supported the rafters, which were made of rare and polished woods and cherished like the hangings on the walls. Five hundred samurai and their ladies were there, wearing all the colors of the rainbow, their fragrances mingling with incense perfume from the precious woods that smoked on tiny wall braziers. Blackthorne’s eyes raced over the crowd to find Mariko, or Yabu, or any friendly face. But he found none. To one side was a line of guests who waited to bow before the raised platform at the far end. The courtier, Prince Ogaki Takamoto, was standing there. Blackthorne recognized Ishido—tall, lean, and autocratic—also beside the platform, and he remembered vividly the blinding power of the man’s blow on his face, and then his own fingers knotting around the man’s throat.

On the platform, alone, was the Lady Ochiba. She sat comfortably on a cushion. Even from this distance he could see the exquisite richness of her kimono, gold threads on the rarest blue-black silk. “The Most High,” Uraga had called her in awe, telling him much about her and her history during their journey.

She was slight, almost girlish in build, with a luminous glow to her fair skin. Her sloe eyes were large under painted, arched brows, her hair set like a winged helmet.

The procession of guests crept forward. Blackthorne was standing to one side in a pool of light, a head taller than those nearby. Politely he stepped aside to get out of the way of some passing guests and saw Ochiba’s eyes turn to him. Now Ishido was looking at him too.
They said something to each other and her fan moved. Their eyes returned to him. Uneasily he went toward a wall to become less conspicuous but a Gray barred his way. “
Dozo,”
this samurai said politely, motioning at the line.

“
Hai, domo,”
Blackthorne said and joined it.

Those in front bowed and others that came after him bowed. He returned their bows. Soon all conversation died. Everyone was looking at him.

Embarrassed, the men and women ahead in the line moved out of his way. Now no one was between him and the platform. He stood rigid momentarily. Then, in the utter silence, he walked forward.

In front of the platform he knelt and bowed formally, once to her and once to Ishido as he had seen others do. He got up again, petrified that his swords would fall or that he would slip and be disgraced, but everything went satisfactorily and he began to back away.

“Please wait, Anjin-san,” she said.

He waited. Her luminosity seemed to have increased, and her femininity. He felt the extraordinary sensuality that surrounded her, without conscious effort on her part.

“It is said that you speak our language?” Her voice was unaccountably personal.

“Please excuse me, Highness,” Blackthorne began, using his time-tried stock phrase, stumbling slightly in his nervousness. “So sorry, but I have to use short words and respectfully ask you to use very simple words to me so that I may have the honor of understanding you.” He knew that without doubt his life could easily depend on his answers. All attention in the room was on them now. Then he noticed Yabu moving carefully through the throng, coming closer. “May I respectfully congratulate you on your birthday and pray that you live to enjoy a thousand more.”

“These are hardly simple words, Anjin-san,” Lady Ochiba said, very impressed.

“Please excuse me, Highness. I learn that last night. The right way to say,
neh?”

“Who taught you that?”

“Uraga-noh-Tadamasa, my vassal.”

She frowned, then glanced at Ishido, who bent forward and spoke, too rapidly for Blackthorne to catch anything other than the word “arrows.”

“Ah, the renegade Christian priest who was killed last night on your ship?”

“Highness?”

“The man—samurai who was killed,
neh?
Last night on ship. You understand?”

“Ah, so sorry. Yes, him.” Blackthorne glanced at Ishido, then back at her. “Please excuse me, Highness, your permission greet the Lord General?”

“Yes, you have that permission.”

“Good evening, Lord General,” Blackthorne said with studied politeness. “Last time meet, I very terrible mad. So sorry.”

Ishido returned the bow perfunctorily. “Yes, you were. And very impolite. I hope you won’t get mad tonight or any other night.”

“Very mad that night, please excuse me.”

“That madness is usual among barbarians,
neh?”

Such public rudeness to a guest was very bad. Blackthorne’s eyes flashed to Lady Ochiba for an instant and he discerned surprise in her too. So he gambled. “Ah, Lord General, you are most very right. Barbarian always same madness. But, so sorry, now I am samurai—hatamoto—this great, so very great honor to me. I
am no longer barbarian.”
He used his quarterdeck voice which carried without shouting and filled all the corners of the room. “Now I understand samurai manners—and little
bushido
. And
wa
. I am no longer barbarian, please excuse.
Neh?”
He spoke the last word as a challenge, unafraid. He knew that Japanese understood masculinity and pride, and honored them.

Ishido laughed. “So, samurai Anjin-san,” he said, jovial now. “Yes, I accept your apology. Rumors about your courage are true. Good, very good. I should apologize also. Terrible that filthy
ronin
could do such a thing, you understand? Attack in night?”

“Yes, I understand, Sire. Very bad. Four men dead. One of my, three Grays.”

“Listen, bad, very bad. Don’t worry, Anjin-san. No more.” Thoughtfully Ishido glanced at the room. Everyone understood him very clearly. “Now I order guards. Understand? Very careful guards. No more assassin attacks. None. You very carefully guarded now. Quite safe in castle.”

“Thank you. So sorry for trouble.”

“No trouble. You important,
neh?
You samurai. You have special samurai place with Lord Toranaga. I don’t forget—never fear.”

Blackthorne thanked Ishido again and turned to the Lady Ochiba. “Highness, in my land we has Queen—have Queen. Please excuse my bad Japanese…. Yes, my land rule by Queen. In my land we have custom always must give lady birthday gift. Even Queen.” From the pocket in his sleeve he took out the pink camellia blossom that he had cut off a tree in the garden. He laid it in front of her, fearful he was overreaching himself. “Please excuse me if not good manners to give.”

She looked at the flower. Five hundred people waited breathlessly to see how she would respond to the daring and the gallantry of the barbarian—and the trap he had, perhaps, unwittingly placed her in.

“I am not a Queen, Anjin-san,” she said slowly. “Only the mother of the Heir and widow of the Lord Taikō. I cannot accept your gift as a Queen for I am not a Queen, could never be a Queen, do not pretend to be a Queen, and do not wish to be a Queen.” Then she smiled at the room and said to everyone, “But as a lady on her birthday, perhaps I may have your permission to accept the Anjin-san’s gift?”

The room burst into applause. Blackthorne bowed and thanked her, having understood only that the gift was accepted. When the crowd was silent again, Lady Ochiba called out, “Mariko-san, your pupil does you credit,
neh?”

Mariko was coming through the guests, a youth beside her. Near them he recognized Kiritsubo and the Lady Sazuko. He saw the youth smile at a young girl then, self-consciously, catch up with Mariko. “Good evening, Lady Toda,” Blackthorne said, then added dangerously in Latin, intoxicated by his success, “The evening is more beautiful because of thy presence.”

“Thank you, Anjin-san,” she replied in Japanese, her cheeks coloring. She walked up to the platform, but the youth stayed within the circle of onlookers. Mariko bowed to Ochiba. “I have done little, Ochiba-sama. It’s all the Anjin-san’s work and the word book that the Christian Fathers gave him.”

“Ah yes, the word book!” Ochiba made Blackthorne show it to her and, with Mariko’s help, explain it elaborately. She was fascinated. So was Ishido. “We must get copies, Lord General. Please order them to give us a hundred of the books. With these, our young men could soon learn barbarian,
neh?”

“Yes. It’s a good idea, Lady. The sooner we have our own interpreters, the better.” Ishido laughed. “Let Christians break their own monopoly,
neh?”

An iron-gray samurai in his sixties who stood in the front of the guests said, “Christians own no monopoly, Lord General. We ask the Christian Fathers—in fact we insist that they be interpreters and negotiators because they’re the only ones who can talk to both sides and are trusted by both sides. Lord Goroda began the custom,
neh?
And then the Taikō continued it.”

“Of course, Lord Kiyama, I meant no disrespect to
daimyos
or samurai who have become Christian. I referred only to the monopoly of the Christian priests,” Ishido said. “It would be better for us if our people and not foreign priests—any priests for that matter—controlled our trade with China.”

Kiyama said, “There’s never been a case of fraud, Lord General. Prices are fair, the trade is easy and efficient, and the Fathers control their own people. Without the Southern Barbarians there’s no silk, no China trade. Without the Fathers we could have much trouble. Very much trouble, so sorry. Please excuse me for mentioning it.”

“Ah, Lord Kiyama,” the Lady Ochiba said, “I’m sure Lord Ishido is honored that you correct him, isn’t that so, Lord General? What would the Council be without Lord Kiyama’s advice?”

“Of course,” Ishido said.

Kiyama bowed stiffly, not unpleased. Ochiba glanced at the youth and fluttered her fan. “How about you, Saruji-san? Perhaps you would like to learn barbarian?”

The boy blushed under their scrutiny. He was slim and handsome and tried hard to be more manly than his almost fifteen years. “Oh, I hope I wouldn’t have to do that, Ochiba-sama, oh no—but if it is ordered I will try. Yes, I’d try very hard.”

They laughed at his ingenuousness. Mariko said proudly in Japanese, “Anjin-san, this is my son, Saruji.” Blackthorne had been concentrating on their conversation, most of which was too fast and too vernacular for him to comprehend. But he had heard “Kiyama,” and an alarm went off. He bowed to Saruji and the bow was formally returned. “He’s a very fine man,
neh?
Lucky have such a fine son, Mariko-sama.” His veiled eyes were looking at the youth’s right hand. It was permanently twisted. Then he remembered that once Mariko had told him her son’s birth had been prolonged and difficult. Poor lad, he thought. How can he use a sword? He took his eyes away. No one had noticed the direction of his glance except Saruji. He saw embarrassment and pain in the youth’s face.