Shogun (The Asian Saga Chronology) (26 page)

He could see the pirate was impatient.  How insulting they are, he told himself.  Even so I should thank you.  Everyone says you alone are responsible for bringing the ship to harbor, that the Rodrigu-anjin lost his nerve and waved us away from land, but you held our course.  Yes.  If we'd gone out to sea we'd have sunk certainly and then I would have failed my Master.  Oh, Buddha, protect me from that!

All his joints were aching and his piles inflamed.  He was exhausted by the effort it took to remain stoic in front of his men, Yabu, the crew, even this barbarian.  Oh, Buddha, I'm so tired.  I wish I could lie in a bath and soak and soak and have one day of rest from pain.  Just one day.  Stop your stupid womanish thoughts!  You've been in pain for almost sixty years.  What is pain to a man?  A privilege!  Masking pain is the measure of a man.  Thank Buddha you are still alive to protect your Master when you should have been dead a hundred times.  I do thank Buddha.

But I hate the sea.  I hate the cold.  And I hate pain.

"Stay where you are, Anjin-san," he said, pointing with his scabbard for clarity, bleakly amused by the ice-blue fire in the man's eyes.  When he was sure the man understood he glanced at the mate.  "Where are we?  Whose fief is this?"

"I don't know, Sire.  I think we're somewhere in Ise Province.  We could send someone ashore to the nearest village."

"Can you pilot us to Osaka?"

"Providing we stay very close to shore, Sire, and go slowly, with great caution.  I don't know these waters and I could never guarantee your safety.  I don't have enough knowledge and there's no one aboard, Sire, who has.  Except this pilot.  If it was left to me I would advise you to go by land.  We could get you horses or palanquins."

Hiro-matsu shook his head irascibly.  To go overland was out of the question.  It would take far too long—the way was mountainous and there were few roads—and they would have to go through many territories controlled by allies of Ishido, the enemy.  Added to this danger were also the multitudinous bandit groups that infested the passes.  This would mean he would have to take all his men.  Certainly he could fight his way through the bandits, but he could never force a passage if Ishido or his allies decided to inhibit him.  All this would delay him further, and his orders were to deliver the cargo, the barbarian, and Yabu, quickly and safely.

"If we follow the coast, how long would it take us?"

"I don't know, Sire.  Four or five days, perhaps more.  I would feel very unsure of myself—I'm not a captain, so sorry."

Which means, Hiro-matsu thought, that I have to have the cooperation of this barbarian.  To prevent him going ashore I'll have to tie him up.  And who knows if he'll be cooperative tied up?

"How long will we have to stay here?"

"The pilot said overnight."

"Will the storm be gone by then?"

"It should, Sire, but one never knows."

Hiro-matsu studied the mountain coast, then the pilot, hesitating.

"May I offer a suggestion, Hiro-matsu-san?" Yabu said.

"Yes, yes, of course," he said testily.

"As we seem to need the pirate's cooperation to get us to Osaka, why not let him go ashore but send men with him to protect him, and order them back before dark.  As to going overland, I agree it would be too dangerous for you—I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you.  Once the storm has blown itself out you'll be safer with the ship and you'll get to Osaka much quicker,
neh?
  Surely by sunset tomorrow."

Reluctantly Hiro-matsu nodded.  "Very well."  He beckoned a samurai.  "Takatashi-san!  You will take six men and go with the Pilot.  Bring the Portuguese's body back if you can find it.  But if even one of this barbarian's eyelashes is damaged, you and your men will commit seppuku instantly."

"Yes, Lord."

"And send two men to the nearest village and find out exactly where we are and in whose fief we are."

"Yes, Lord."

"With your permission, Hiro-matsu-san, I will lead the party ashore," Yabu said.  "If we arrived in Osaka without the pirate, I'd be so ashamed that I'd feel obliged to kill myself anyway.  I'd like the honor of carrying out your orders."

Hiro-matsu nodded, inwardly surprised that Yabu would put himself in such jeopardy.  He went below.

When Blackthorne realized that Yabu was going ashore with him, his pulse quickened.  I haven't forgotten Pieterzoon or my crew or the pit—or the screams or Omi or any part of it.  Look to your life, bastard.

CHAPTER 9

They were quickly on land.  Blackthorne intended to lead but Yabu usurped that position and set a strong pace, which he was hard put to keep up with.  The other six samurai were watching him carefully.  I've nowhere to run, you fools, he thought, misunderstanding their concern, as his eyes automatically quartered the bay, looking for shoals or hidden reefs, measuring bearings, his mind docketing the important things for future transcription.

Their way led first along the pebbled shore, then a short climb over sea-smoothed rocks up onto a path that skirted the cliff and crept precariously around the headland southward.  The rain had stopped but the gale had not.  The closer they came to the exposed tongue of land, the higher the surf—hurled against the rocks below—sprayed into the air.  Soon they were soaked.

Although Blackthorne felt chilled, Yabu and the others, who had their light kimonos carelessly tucked into their belts, did not seem to be affected by the wet or the cold.  It must be as Rodrigues had said, he thought, his fear returning.  Japmen just aren't built like us.  They don't
feel
cold or hunger or privations or wounds as we do.  They are more like animals, their nerves dulled, compared to us.

Above them the cliff soared two hundred feet.  The shore was fifty feet below.  Beyond and all around were mountains and not a house or hut in the whole bay area.  This was not surprising for there was no room for fields, the shore pebbles quickly becoming foreshore rocks and then granite mountain with trees on the upper slopes.

The path dipped and rose along the cliff face, very unsafe, the surface loose.  Blackthorne plodded along, leaning against the wind, and noticed that Yabu's legs were strong and muscular.  Slip, you whore-bastard, he thought.  Slip—splatter yourself on the rocks below.  Would that make you scream?  What would make you scream?

With an effort he took his eyes off Yabu and went back to searching the foreshore.  Each crevice and cleft and gulley.  The spume wind was gusting and tore the tears from him.  Sea spilled back and forth, swirled and eddied.  He knew there was a minimal hope of finding Rodrigues, there would be too many caves and hidden places that could never be investigated.  But he had had to come ashore to try. H e owed Rodrigues the try.  All pilots prayed helplessly for death ashore and burial ashore.  All had seen too many sea-bloated corpses and half-eaten corpses and crab-mutilated corpses.

They rounded the headland and stopped gratefully in the lee.  There was no need to go further.  If the body wasn't to windward then it was hidden or swallowed up or already carried out to sea, into the deep.  Half a mile away a small fishing village nestled on the whitefrothed shore.  Yabu motioned to two of the samurai.  Immediately they bowed and loped off toward it.  A last look, then Yabu wiped the rain out of his face, glanced up at Blackthorne, motioning their return.  Blackthorne nodded and they set off again, Yabu leading, the other samurai still watching him so carefully, and again he thought how stupid they were.

Then, when they were halfway back, they saw Rodrigues.

The body was caught in a cleft between two great rocks, above the surf but washed by part of it.  One arm was sprawled in front.  The other was still locked to the broken oar which moved slightly with the ebb and flow.  It was this movement that had attracted Blackthorne's attention as he bent into the wind, trudging in Yabu's wake.

The only way down was over the short cliff.  The climb would only be fifty or sixty feet but it was a sheer drop and there were almost no footholds.

What about the tide?  Blackthorne asked himself.  It's flowing, not ebbing.  That'll take him out to sea again.  Jesus, it looks foul down there.  What's it to be?

He went closer to the edge and immediately Yabu moved in his way, shaking his head, and the other samurai surrounded him.

"I'm only trying to get a better look, for the love of Christ," he said.  "I'm not trying to escape!  Where the hell can I run to?"

He backed off a little and peered down.  They followed his look and chatted among themselves, Yabu doing most of the talking.

There's no chance, he decided.  It's too dangerous.  We'll come back at dawn with ropes.  If he's here, he's here, and I'll bury him ashore.  Reluctantly he turned and, as he did, the edge of the cliff crumbled and he began to slip.  Immediately Yabu and the others grabbed him and pulled him back, and all at once he realized that they were concerned only for his safety.  They're only trying to protect me!

Why should they want me safe?  Because of Tora— What was his name?  Toranaga?  Because of him?  Yes, but also perhaps because there's no one else aboard to pilot us.  Is that why they let me come ashore, gave me my way?  Yes, it must be.  So now I have power over the ship, over the old
daimyo,
and over this bastard.  How can I use it?

He relaxed and thanked them and let his eyes roam below.  "We've got to get him, Yabu-san. 
Hai!
  The only way's that way.  Over the cliff.  I'll bring him up, me, Anjin-san!"  Again he moved forward as though he was going to climb down and again they restrained him and he said with feigned anxiety, "We've got to get Rodrigu-san.  Look!  There's not much time, light's going."

"
Iyé,
Anjin-san," Yabu said.

He stood towering over Yabu.  "If you won't let me go, Yabu-san, then send one of your men.  Or go yourself.  You!"

The wind tore around them, whining off the cliff face.  He saw Yabu look down, weighing the climb and the falling light, and he knew Yabu was hooked.  You're trapped, bastard, your vanity's trapped you.  If you start down there you'll get hurt.  But don't kill yourself, please, just shatter your legs or ankles.  Then drown.

A samurai began to climb down but Yabu ordered him back.

"Return to the ship.  Fetch some ropes immediately," Yabu said.  The man ran off.

Yabu kicked off his thong slippers.  He took his swords out of his belt and put them safely under cover.  "Watch them and watch the barbarian.  If anything happens to either, I'll sit you on your own swords."

"Please let me go down there, Yabu-sama," Takatashi said.  "If you're hurt or lost I'll—"

"You think that you can succeed where I will fail?"

"No, Sire, of course not."

"Good."

"Please wait for the ropes then.  I'll never forgive myself if anything happens to you."  Takatashi was short and stocky with a heavy beard.

Why not wait for the ropes?  Yabu asked himself.  It would be sensible, yes.  But not clever.  He glanced up at the barbarian and nodded briefly.  He knew that he had been challenged.  He had expected it.  And hoped for it.  That's why I volunteered for this mission, Anjin-san, he said to himself, silently amused.  You're really very simple.  Omi was right.

Yabu took off his soaking kimono and, clad only in his loincloth, went to the cliff edge and tested it through the soles of his cotton tabi—his sock-shoes.  Better to keep them on, he thought, his will and his body, forged by a lifetime of training all samurai had to undergo, dominating the cold that cut into him.  The tabi will give you a firmer grip—for a time.  You'll need all your strength and skill to get down there alive.  Is it worth it?

During the storm and the stab for the bay he had come on deck and, unnoticed by Blackthorne, had taken a place at the oars.  Gladly he had used his strength with the rowers, detesting the miasma below and the sickness he had felt.  He had decided that it was better to die in the air than suffocate below.

As he worked with the others in the driving cold, he began watching the pilots.  He saw very clearly that, at sea, the ship and all aboard were in the power of these two men.  The pilots were in their element, riding the pitching decks as carelessly as he himself rode a galloping horse.  No Japanese aboard could match them.  For skill or courage or knowledge.  And gradually this awareness had spawned a majestic concept: modern barbarian ships filled with samurai, piloted by samurai, captained by samurai, sailed by samurai. 
His
samurai.

If I had three barbarian ships initially, I could easily control the sea lanes between Yedo and Osaka.  Based in Izu, I could strangle all shipping or let it pass.  So nearly all the rice and all the silk.  Wouldn't I then be arbiter between Toranaga and lshido?  At the very least, a balance between them?

No
daimyo
has ever yet taken to the sea.

No
daimyo
has ships or pilots.

Except me.

I have a ship—had a ship—and now I
might
have my ship back if I'm clever.  I have a pilot and therefore a trainer of pilots, if I can get him away from Toranaga.  If I can dominate him.

Once he is my vassal of his own accord, he will train my men.  And build ships.

But how to make him a true vassal?  The pit did not break his spirit.

First get him alone and keep him alone—isn't that what Omi said?  Then this pilot could be persuaded to manners and taught to speak Japanese.  Yes.  Omi's very clever.  Too clever perhaps—I'll think about Omi later.  Concentrate on the pilot.  How to dominate a barbarian—a Christian filth eater?

What was it Omi said?  'They value life.  Their chief deity, Jesus the Christ, teaches them to love one another and to value life.'  Could I give him back his life?  Save it, yes, that would be very good.  How to bend him?

Yabu had been so swept by his excitement he had hardly noticed the motion of the ship or the seas.  A wave cascaded over him.  He saw it envelop the pilot.  But there was no fear in the man at all.  Yabu was astounded.  How could someone who had meekly allowed an enemy to piss on his back to save the life of an insignificant vassal, how could this man have the strength to forget such eternal dishonor and stand there on the quarterdeck calling the gods of the sea to battle like any legendary hero—to save the same enemies?  And then, when the great wave had taken the Portuguese away and they were floundering, the Anjin-san had miraculously laughed at death and given them the strength to pull away from the rocks.