Shogun (The Asian Saga Chronology) (21 page)

"
Ikimasho,
Rodrigu-san.
Ima!
"

"
Ima
it is."  Rodrigues looked at Blackthorne thoughtfully.  "'
Ima
' means 'now,' 'at once.'  We're to leave at once, Ingeles."

The sand had already made a small, neat mound in the bottom of the glass.

"Will you ask him, please?  If I can go aboard my ship?"

"No, Ingeles.  I won't ask him a poxy thing."

Blackthorne suddenly felt empty.  And very old.  He watched Rodrigues go to the railing of the quarterdeck and bellow to a small, distinguished seaman who stood on the raised fore-poop deck at the bow.  "Hey, Captain-san.
Ikimasho?
Get samurai aboard-u,
ima! Ima, wakarimasu ka?"

"
Hai,
Anjin-san."

Immediately Rodrigues rang the ship's bell loudly six times and the Captain-san began shouting orders to the seamen and samurai ashore and aboard.  Seamen hurried up on deck from below to prepare for departure and, in the disciplined, controlled confusion, Rodrigues quietly took Blackthorne's arm and shoved him toward the starboard gangway, away from the shore.

"There's a dinghy below, Ingeles.  Don't move fast, don't look around, and don't pay attention to anyone but me.  If I tell you to come back, do it quickly."

Blackthorne walked across the deck, down the gangway, toward the small Japanese skiff.  He heard angry voices behind him and he felt the hairs on his neck rising for there were many samurai all over the ship, some armed with bows and arrows, a few with muskets.

"You don't have to worry about him, Captain-san, I'm responsible.  Me, Rodrigu-san,
ichi ban
Anjin-san, by the Virgin! 
Wakarimasu ka?
" was dominating the other voices, but they were getting angrier every moment.

Blackthorne was almost in the dinghy now and he saw that there were no rowlocks.  I can't scull like they do, he told himself.  I can't use the boat!  It's too far to swim.  Or is it?

He hesitated, checking the distance.  If he had had his full strength he would not have waited a moment.  But now?

Feet clattered down the gangway behind him and he fought the impulse to turn.

"Sit in the stern," he heard Rodrigues say urgently.  "Hurry up!"

He did as he was told and Rodrigues jumped in nimbly, grabbed the oars and, still standing, shoved off with great skill.

A samurai was at the head of the gangway, very perturbed, and two other samurai were beside him, bows ready.  The captain samurai called out, unmistakably beckoning them to come back.

A few yards from the vessel Rodrigues turned.  "Just go there," he shouted up at him, pointing at
Erasmus.
  "Get samurai aboard!"  He set his back firmly to his ship and continued sculling, pushing against the oars in Japanese fashion, standing amidships.  "Tell me if they put arrows in their bows, Ingeles!  Watch'em carefully!  What're they doing now?"

"The captain's very angry.  You won't get into trouble, will you?"

"If we don't sail at the turn, Old Toady might have cause for complaint.  What're those bowmen doing?"

"Nothing.  They're listening to him.  He seems undecided.  No.  Now one of them's drawing out an arrow."

Rodrigues prepared to stop.  "Madonna, they're too God-cursed accurate to risk anything.  Is it in the bow yet?"

"Yes—but wait a moment!  The captain's—someone's come up to him, a seaman I think.  Looks like he's asking him something about the ship.  The captain's looking at us.  He said something to the man with the arrow.  Now the man's putting it away.  The seaman's pointing at something on deck."

Rodrigues sneaked a quick look to make sure and breathed easier.  "That's one of the mates.  It'll take him all of the half hour to get his oarsmen settled."

Blackthorne waited, the distance increased.  "The captain's looking at us again.  No, we're all right.  He's gone away.  But one of the samurai's watching us."

"Let him."  Rodrigues relaxed but he did not slacken the pace of his sculling or look back.  "Don't like my back to samurai, not when they've weapons in their hands.  Not that I've ever seen one of the bastards unarmed.  They're all bastards!"

"Why?"

"They love to kill, Ingeles.  It's their custom even to sleep with their swords.  This is a great country, but samurai're dangerous as vipers and a sight more mean."

"Why?"

"I don't know why, Ingeles, but they are," Rodrigues replied, glad to talk to one of his own kind.  "Of course, all Jappos are different from us—they don't feel pain or cold like us—but samurai are even worse.  They fear nothing, least of all death.  Why?  Only God knows, but it's the truth.  If their superiors say 'kill,' they kill, 'die' and they'll fall on their swords or slit their own bellies open.  They kill and die as easily as we piss.  Women're samurai too, Ingeles.  They'll kill to protect their masters, that's what they call their husbands here, or they'll kill themselves if they're ordered to.  They do it by slitting their throats.  Here a samurai can order his wife to kill herself and that's what she's got to do, by law.  Jesu Madonna, the women are something else though, a different species, Ingeles, nothing on earth like them, but the men. . . . Samurai're reptiles and the safest thing to do is treat them like poisonous snakes.  You all right now?"

"Yes, thank you.  A bit weak but all right."

"How was your voyage?"

"Rough.  About them—the samurai—how do they get to be one?  Do they just pick up the two swords and get that haircut?"

"You've got to be born one.  Of course, there are all ranks of samurai from
daimyos
at the top of the muckheap to what we'd call a foot soldier at the bottom.  It's hereditary mostly, like with us.  In the olden days, so I was told, it was the same as in Europe today—peasants could be soldiers and soldiers peasants, with hereditary knights and nobles up to kings.  Some peasant soldiers rose to the highest rank.  The Taikō was one."

"Who's he?"

"The Great Despot, the ruler of all Japan, the Great Murderer of all times—I'll tell you about him one day.  He died a year ago and now he's burning in hell."  Rodrigues spat overboard.  "Nowadays you've got to be born samurai to be one.  It's all hereditary, Ingeles.  Madonna, you've no idea how much store they put on heritage, on family, rank, and the like—you saw how Omi bows to that devil Yabu and they both grovel to old Toady-sama.  'Samurai' comes from a Jappo word meaning 'to serve.'  But while they'll all bow and scrape to the man above, they're all samurai equally, with a samurai's special privileges.  What's happening aboard?"

"The captain's jabbering away at another samurai and pointing at us.  What's special about them?"

"Here samurai rule everything, own everything.  They've their own code of honor and sets of rules.  Arrogant?  Madonna, you've no idea!  The lowest of them can legally kill any non-samurai,
any
man, woman, or child, for any reason or for no reason.  They can kill, legally, just to test the edge of their piss-cutting swords—I've seen'em do it—and they have the best swords in the world.  Better'n Damascus steel.  What's that fornicator doing now?"

"Just watching us.  His bow's on his back now."  Blackthorne shuddered.  "I hate those bastards more than Spaniards."

Again Rodrigues laughed as he sculled.  "If the truth's known, they curdle my piss too!  But if you want to get rich quick you've got to work with them because they own everything.  You sure you're all right?"

"Yes.  Thanks.  You were saying?  Samurai own everything?"

"Yes.  Whole country's split up into castes, like in India.  Samurai at the top, peasants next important."  Rodrigues spat overboard.  "Only peasants can
own
land.  Understand?  But samurai own all the produce.  They own all the rice and that's the only important crop, and they give back part to the peasants.  Only samurai're allowed to carry arms.  For anyone except a samurai to attack a samurai is rebellion, punishable by instant death.  And anyone who sees such an attack and doesn't report it at once is equally liable, and so are their wives, and even their kids.  The whole family's put to death if one doesn't report it.  By the Madonna, they're Satan's whelps, samurai!  I've seen kids chopped into mincemeat."  Rodrigues hawked and spat."  Even so, if you know a thing or two this place is heaven on earth."  He glanced back at the galley to reassure himself, then he grinned.  "Well, Ingeles, nothing like a boat ride around the harbor, eh?"

Blackthorne laughed.  The years dropped off him as he reveled in the familiar dip of the waves, the smell of the sea salt, gulls calling and playing overhead, the sense of freedom, the sense of arriving after so very long.  "I thought you weren't going to help me get to
Erasmus!
"

"That's the trouble with all Ingeles.  No patience.  Listen, here you don't
ask
Japmen anything—samurai or others, they're all the same.  If you do, they'll hesitate, then ask the man above for the decision.  Here you have to
act.
  Of course"—his hearty laugh ran across the waves—"sometimes you get killed if you act wrong."

"You scull very well.  I was wondering how to use the oars when you came."

"You don't think I'd let you go alone, do you?  What's your name?"

"Blackthorne.  John Blackthorne."

"Have you ever been north, Ingeles?  Into the far north?"

"I was with Kees Veerman in
Der Lifle.
  Eight years ago.  It was his second voyage to find the Northeast Passage.  Why?"

"I'd like to hear about that—and all the places you've been.  Do you think they'll ever find the way?  The northern way to Asia, east or west?"

"Yes.  You and the Spanish block both southern routes, so we'll have to.  Yes, we will.  Or the Dutch.  Why?"

"And you've piloted the Barbary Coast, eh?"

"Yes.  Why?"

"And you know Tripoli?"

"Most pilots have been there.  Why?"

"I thought I'd seen you once.  Yes, it was Tripoli.  You were pointed out to me.  The famous Ingeles pilot.  Who went with the Dutch explorer, Kees Veerman, into the Ice Seas—and was once a captain with Drake, eh?  At the Armada?  How old were you then?"

"Twenty-four.  What were you doing in Tripoli?"

"I was piloting an Ingeles privateer.  My ship'd got taken in the Indies by this pirate, Morrow—Henry Morrow was his name.  He burned my ship to the waterline after he'd sacked her and offered me the pilot's job—his man was useless, so he said—you know how it is.  He wanted to go from there—we were watering off Hispaniola when he caught us—south along the Main, then back across the Atlantic to try to intercept the annual Spanish gold ship near the Canaries, then on through the Straits to Tripoli if we missed her to try for other prizes, then north again to England. He made the usual offer to free my comrades, give them food and boats in return if I joined them.  I said, 'Sure, why not?  Providing we don't take any Portuguese shipping and you put me ashore near Lisbon and don't steal my rutters.'  We argued back and forth as usual—you know how it is.  Then I swore by the Madonna and we both swore on the Cross and that was that.  We had a good voyage and some fat Spanish merchantmen fell into our wake.  When we were off Lisbon he asked me to stay aboard, gave me the usual message from Good Queen Bess, how she'd pay a princely bounty to any Portuguese pilot who'd join her and teach others the skill at Trinity House, and give five thousand guineas for the rutter of Magellan's Pass, or the Cape of Good Hope."  His smile was broad, his teeth white and strong, and his dark mustache and beard well groomed.  "I didn't have them.  At least that's what I told him.  Morrow kept his word, like all pirates should.  He put me ashore with my rutters—of course he'd had them copied though he himself couldn't read or write, and he even gave me my share of the prize money.  You ever sail with him, Ingeles?"

"No.  The Queen knighted him a few years ago.  I've never served on one of his ships.  I'm glad he was fair with you."

They were nearing
Erasmus.
  Samurai were peering down at them quizzically.

"That was the second time I'd piloted for heretics.  The first time I wasn't so lucky."

"Oh?"

Rodrigues shipped his oars and the boat swerved neatly to the side and he hung onto the boarding ropes.  "Go aloft but leave the talking to me."

Blackthorne began to climb while the other pilot tied the boat safely.  Rodrigues was the first on deck.  He bowed like a courtier.  "
Konnichi wa
to all sod-eating samas!"

There were four samurai on deck.  Blackthorne recognized one of them as a guard of the trapdoor.  Nonplussed, they bowed stiffly to the Portuguese.  Blackthorne aped him, feeling awkward, and would have preferred to bow correctly.

Rodrigues walked straight for the companionway.  The seals were neatly in place.  One of the samurai intercepted him.

"
Kinjiru, gomen nasai.
"  It's forbidden, so sorry.

"
Kinjiru,
eh?" the Portuguese said, openly unimpressed.  "I'm Rodrigu-san, anjin for Toda Hiro-matsu-sama.  This seal," he said, pointing to the red stamp with the odd writing on it, "Toda Hiro-Matsu-sama,
ka?
"

"
Iyé,
" the samurai said, shaking his head.  "Kasigi Yabu-sama!"

"
IYÉ?
" Rodrigues said.  "Kasigi Yabu-sama?  I'm from Toda Hiro-Matsu-sama, who's a bigger king than your bugger and Toady-sama's from Toranaga-sama, who's the biggest bugger-sama in this whole world. 
Neh?
"  He ripped the seal off the door, dropped a hand to one of his pistols.  The swords were half out of their scabbards and he said quietly to Blackthorne, "Get ready to abandon ship," and to the samurai he said gruffly, "Toranaga-sama!"  He pointed with his left hand at the flag which fluttered at his own masthead.  "
Wakarimasu ka?
"

The samurai hesitated, their swords ready.  Blackthorne prepared to dive over the side.

"Toranaga-sama!"  Rodrigues crashed his foot against the door, the latch snapped and the door burst open.  "
WAKARIMASU KA?
"