“Why?”
“I’d like to spirit you away, you and your strange ship at Yokohama, to Hizen, to our great harbor of Sasebo. Then I would ask you to barter with me—I’d ask you to show me and our sea captains the ways of your ship and your ways of the sea. In return I’d offer you the best teachers in the realm, teachers of bushido, cha-no-yu, hara-gei, ki, zazen meditation, flower arranging, and all the special unique knowledges that we possess.”
“I’d like that. Why don’t we do it now?”
“It’s not possible today. But you already know so much and in such a short time, neh? Mariko-sama was a great teacher. You are a worthy samurai. And you have a quality that’s rare here: unpredictability. The Taikō had it, Toranaga-sama has it too. You see, usually we’re a very predictable people.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Then predict a way I can escape the trap I’m in.”
“So sorry, there isn’t one, Anjin-san,” Michael said.
“I don’t believe that. How did you know my ship is at Yokohama?”
“That’s common knowledge.”
“Is it?”
“Almost everything about you—and your defense of Lord Toranaga, and the Lady Maria, Lady Toda—is well known. And honored.”
“I don’t believe that either.” Blackthorne picked up another flat stone and sent it skimming over the waves. They went on, Blackthorne humming a sea shanty, liking Michael very much. Soon their way was blocked by a breakwater. They skirted it and came up onto the road once more. The Jesuit warehouse and Mission were tall and brooding now under the reddening sky. He saw the orange-robed Lay Brothers guarding the arched stone gateway and sensed their hostility. But it did not touch him. His head began to ache again.
As he had expected, Michael headed for the Mission gates. He readied himself, resolved that they would have to beat him into unconsciousness before he went inside and they forced him to give up his weapons.
“You’re just guiding me to my galley, eh?”
“Yes, Anjin-san.” To his astonishment Michael motioned him to stop outside the gateway. “Nothing’s changed. I was told to inform the Father-Visitor as we passed. So sorry, but you’ll have to wait a moment.”
Thrown off guard, Blackthorne watched him enter the gates alone. He had expected that the Mission was to be the end of his journey. First an Inquisition and trial, with torture, then handed over to the Captain-General. He looked at the lorcha a hundred paces away. Ferriera and Rodrigues were on the poop and armed seamen crowded the main deck. Past the ship, the wharf road curled slightly and he could just see his galley. Men were watching from the gunwales and he thought he recognized Yabu and Vinck among them but could not be sure. There seemed to be a few women aboard also but who they were he did not know. Surrounding the galley were Grays. Many Grays.
His eyes returned to Ferriera and Rodrigues. Both were heavily armed. So were the seamen. Gun crews lounged near the two small shore-side cannon, but in reality they were manning them. He recognized the great bulk of Pesaro, the bosun, moving down the companionway with a group of men. His eyes followed them, then his blood chilled. A tall stake was driven into the packed earth on the farside wharf. Wood was piled around the base.
“Ah, Captain-Pilot, how are you?”
Dell’Aqua was coming through the gates, dwarfing Michael beside him. Today the Father-Visitor was wearing a Jesuit robe, his great height and luxuriant gray-white beard giving him the ominous regality of a biblical patriarch, every inch an Inquisitor, outwardly benign, Blackthorne thought. He stared up into the brown eyes, finding it strange to look up at any man, and even stranger to see compassion in the eyes. But he knew there would be no pity behind the eyes and he expected none. “Ah, Father-Visitor, how are you?” he replied, the prawns now leaden in his stomach, sickening him.
“Shall we go on?”
“Why not?”
So the Inquisition’s to be aboard, Blackthorne thought, desperately afraid, wishing he had pistols in his belt. You’d be the first to die, Eminence.
“You stay here, Michael,” dell’Aqua said. Then he glanced toward the Portuguese frigate. His face hardened and he set off.
Blackthorne hesitated. Michael and the surrounding samurai were watching him oddly.
“Sayonara, Anjin-san,” Michael said. “Go with God.”
Blackthorne nodded briefly and started to walk through the samurai, waiting for them to fall on him to take away his swords. But they let him through unmolested. He stopped and looked back, his heart racing.
For a moment he was tempted to draw his sword and charge. But there was no escape that way. They wouldn’t fight him. Many had spears so they would catch him and disarm him, and bind him and hand him on. I won’t go bound, he promised himself. His only path was forward and there his swords were helpless against guns. He would charge the guns but they would just maim him in the knees and bind him….
“Captain Blackthorne, come along,” dell’Aqua called out.
“Yes, just a moment please.” Blackthorne beckoned Michael. “Listen, Brother, down by the beach you said I was a worthy samurai. Did you mean it?”
“Yes, Anjin-san. That and everything.”
“Then I beg a favor, as a samurai,” he said quietly but urgently.
“What favor?”
“To die as a samurai.”
“Your death isn’t in my hands. It’s in the Hand of God, Anjin-san.”
“Yes. But I ask that favor of you.” Blackthorne waved at the distant stake. “That’s no way. That’s filthy.”
Perplexed, Michael peered toward the lorcha. Then he saw the stake for the first time. “Blessed Mother of God …”
“Captain Blackthorne, please come along,” dell’Aqua called again.
Blackthorne said, more urgently, “Explain to the officer. He’s got enough samurai here to insist, neh? Explain to him. You’ve been to Europe. You know how it is there. It’s not much to ask, neh? Please, I’m samurai. One of them could be my second.”
“I … I will ask.” Michael went back to the officer and began to talk softly and urgently.
Blackthorne turned and centered his attention on the ship. He walked forward. Dell’Aqua waited till he was alongside and set off again.
Ahead, Blackthorne saw Ferriera strut off the poop, down along the main deck, pistols in his belt, rapier at his side. Rodrigues was watching him, right hand on the butt of a long-barreled dueling piece. Pesaro and ten seamen were already on the jetty, leaning on bayoneted muskets. And the long shadow of the stake reached out toward him.
Oh, God, for a brace of pistols and ten jolly Jack Tars and one cannon, he thought, as the gap closed inexorably. Oh, God, let me not be shamed….
“Good evening, Eminence,” Ferriera said, his eyes seeing only Blackthorne. “So, Inge—”
“Good evening, Captain-General.” Dell’Aqua pointed angrily at the stake. “Is this your idea?”
“Yes, Eminence.”
“Go back aboard your ship!”
“This is a military decision.”
“Go aboard your ship!”
“No! Pesaro!” At once the bosun and the bayoneted shore party came on guard and advanced toward Blackthorne. Ferriera slid out the pistol. “So, Ingeles, we meet again.”
“That’s something that pleases me not at all.” Blackthorne’s sword came out of its scabbard. He held it awkwardly with two hands, the broken haft hurting him.
“Tonight you will be pleased in hell,” Ferriera said thickly.
“If you had any courage you’d fight—man to man. But you’re not a man, you’re a coward, a Spanish coward without balls.”
“Disarm him!” Ferriera ordered.
At once the ten men went forward, bayonets leveled. Blackthorne backed away but he was surrounded. Bayonets stabbed for his legs and he slashed at an assailant, but as the man retreated another attacked from behind. Then dell’Aqua came to his senses and shouted, “Put down your guns! Before God,
I order you to stop!”
The seamen were flustered. All muskets were zeroed in on Blackthorne, who stood helplessly at bay, sword high.
“Get back, all of you,” dell’Aqua called out. “Get back! Before God, get back! Are you animals?”
Ferriera said, “I want that man!”
“I know, and I’ve already told you you can’t have him! Yesterday and today! Are you deaf? God give me patience! Order your men aboard!”
“I order you to turn around and go away!”
“You order me?”
“Yes, I order you! I’m Captain-General, Governor of Macao, Chief Officer of Portugal in Asia, and that man’s a threat to the State, the Church, the Black Ship, and Macao!”
“Before God, I’ll excommunicate you and all your crew if this man’s harmed. You hear?” Dell’Aqua spun on the musketeers, who backed off, frightened. Except Pesaro. Pesaro stood his ground defiantly, his pistol loose in his hand, waiting for Ferriera’s order. “Get on that ship and out of the way!”
“You’re making a mistake,” Ferriera stormed. “He’s a threat! I’m Military Commander in Asia and I say—”
“This is a Church matter, not a military de—”
Blackthorne was dazed, hardly able to think or to see, his head once more exploding with pain. Everything had happened so fast, one moment guarded, the next not, one moment betrayed to the Inquisition, the next escaped, then to be betrayed again and now defended by the Chief Inquisitor. Nothing made sense.
Ferriera was shouting, “I caution you again! As God’s my judge, you’re making a mistake and I’ll inform Lisbon!”
“Meanwhile order your men aboard or I’ll remove you as Captain-General of the Black Ship!”
“You don’t have that power!”
“Unless you order your men aboard and order the Ingeles unharmed at once, I declare you excommunicated—and any man who serves under you, in any command, excommunicated, and curse you and all who serve you, in the Name of God!”
“By the Madonna—” Ferriera stopped. He was not afraid for himself but now his Black Ship was jeopardized and he knew most of his crew would desert him unless he obeyed. For a moment he contemplated shooting the priest, but that would not take away the curse. So he conceded. “Very well—back aboard, everyone! Stand down!”
Obediently the men scattered, glad to be away from the priest’s wrath. Blackthorne was still bewildered, half wondering if his head was tricking him. Then, in the melee, Pesaro’s hatred burst. He aimed. Dell’Aqua saw the covert movement and leaped forward to protect Blackthorne with his own bulk. Pesaro pulled the trigger but at that moment arrows impaled him, the pistol fired harmlessly, and he collapsed screaming.
Blackthorne spun around and saw six Kiyama archers, fresh arrows already in their bows. Standing near them was Michael. The officer spoke harshly. Pesaro gave a last shriek, his limbs contorted, and he died.
Michael trembled as he broke the silence. “The officer says, so sorry, but he was afraid for the Father-Visitor’s life.” Michael was begging God to forgive him for giving the signal to fire. But Pesaro had been warned, he reasoned. And it is my duty to see the Father-Visitor’s orders are obeyed, that his life is protected, that assassins are stamped out and no one excommunicated.
Dell’Aqua was on his knees beside the corpse of Pesaro. He made the sign of the cross and said the sacred words. The Portuguese around him were watching the samurai, craving the order to kill the murderers. The rest of Kiyama’s men were hastening from the Mission gate where they had remained, and a number of Grays were streaming back from the galley area to investigate. Through his almost blinding rage Ferriera knew he could not afford a fight here and now. “Everyone back aboard! Bring Pesaro’s body!” Sullenly the shore party began to obey.
Blackthorne lowered his sword but did not sheathe it. He waited stupefied, expecting a trick, expecting to be captured and dragged aboard.
On the quarterdeck Rodrigues said quietly, “Stand by to repel boarders, but carefully, by God!” Instantly men slipped to action stations. “Cover the Captain-General! Prepare the longboat….”
Dell’Aqua got up and turned on Ferriera, who stood arrogantly at the companionway, prepared to defend his ship. “You’re responsible for that man’s death!” the Father-Visitor hissed. “Your fanatic, vengeful lust and unho—”
“Before you say something publicly you may regret, Eminence, you’d better think carefully,” Ferriera interrupted. “I bowed to your order even though I knew, before God, you were making a terrible mistake. You heard me order my men back! Pesaro disobeyed you, not me, and the truth is you’re responsible if anyone is. You prevented him and us from doing our duty. That Ingeles is the enemy! It was a military decision, by God! I’ll inform Lisbon.” His eyes checked the battle readiness of his ship and the approaching samurai.
Rodrigues had moved to the main deck gangway. “Captain-General, I can’t get out to sea with this wind and this tide.”
“Get a longboat ready to haul us out if need be.”
“It’s being done.”
Ferriera shouted at the seamen carrying Pesaro, telling them to hurry. Quickly all were back aboard. The cannon were manned, though discreetly, and everyone had two muskets nearby. Left and right, samurai were massing on the wharf but they made no overt move to interfere.
Still on the dock Ferriera said peremptorily to Michael, “Tell them all to disperse! There’s no trouble here—nothing for them to do. There was a mistake, a bad one, but they were right to shoot the bosun. Tell them to disperse.” He hated to say it and wanted to kill them all but he could almost smell the peril on the wharf and he had no option now but to retreat.
Michael did as he was ordered. The officers did not move.
“You’d better go on, Eminence,” Ferriera said bitterly. “But this is not the last of it—you’ll regret saving him!”
Dell’Aqua too felt the explosiveness surrounding them. But it did not touch him. He made the sign of the cross and said a small benediction, then he turned away. “Come along, Pilot.”
“Why are you letting me go?” Blackthorne asked, the pain in his head agonizing, still not daring to believe it.
“Come along, Pilot!”
“But why are you letting me go? I don’t understand.”
“Nor do I,” Ferriera said. “I’d like to know the real reason too, Eminence. Isn’t he still a threat to us and the Church?”
Dell’Aqua stared at him. Yes, he wanted to say, to wipe the arrogance off the popinjay’s face in front of him. But the bigger threat is the immediate war and how to buy time for you and fifty years of Black Ships, and whom to choose: Toranaga or Ishido. You understand nothing of our problems, Ferriera, or the stakes involved, or the delicacy of our position here or the dangers.
“Please Lord Kiyama, reconsider. I suggest you should choose Lord Toranaga,” he had told the daimyo yesterday, through Michael as interpreter, not trusting his own Japanese, which was only fair.
“This is unwarranted interference in Japanese affairs and outside your jurisdiction. And, too, the barbarian must die.”
Dell’Aqua had used all his diplomatic skill but Kiyama had been adamant and had refused to commit himself or change his position. Then, this morning, when he had gone to Kiyama to tell him that, through God’s will, the Ingeles was neutralized, there had been a glimmer of hope.
“I’ve considered what you said,” Kiyama had told him. “I will not ally myself with Toranaga. Between now and the battle I will watch both contenders very carefully. At the correct time I will choose. And now I consent to let the barbarian go … not because of what you’ve told me but because of the Lady Mariko, to honor her … and because the Anjin-san is samurai …”
Ferriera was still staring back at him. “Isn’t the Ingeles still a threat?”
“Have a safe journey, Captain-General, and Godspeed. Pilot, I’m taking you to your galley…. Are you all right?”
“It’s … my head it’s … I think
the explosion…. You’re really letting me go? Why?”
“Because the Lady Maria, the Lady Mariko, asked us to protect you.” Dell’Aqua started off again.
“But that’s no reason! You wouldn’t do that just because she asked you.”
“I agree,” Ferriera said. Then he called out, “Eminence, why not tell him the whole truth?”
Dell’Aqua did not stop. Blackthorne began to follow but he did not turn his back to the ship, still expecting treachery. “Doesn’t make sense. You know I’m going to destroy you. I’ll take your Black Ship.”
Ferriera laughed scornfully. “With what, Ingeles? You have no ship!”
“What do you mean?”
“You have no ship. She’s dead. If she wasn’t, I’d never let you go, whatever his Eminence threatened.”
“It’s not true …”
Through the fog in his head Blackthorne heard Ferriera say it again and laugh louder, and add something about an accident and the Hand of God and your ship’s burned to her spine, so you’ll never harm my ship now, though you’re still heretic and enemy, and still a threat to the Faith. Then he saw Rodrigues clearly, pity on his face, and the lips spelled out, Yes, it’s true, Ingeles.
“It’s not true, can’t be true.”
Then the Inquisitor priest was saying from a million leagues away, “I received a message this morning from Father Alvito. It seems an earthquake caused a tidal wave, the wave …”
But Blackthorne was not listening. His mind was crying out, Your ship’s dead, you’ve let her down, your ship’s dead, you’ve no ship no ship no ship….
“It’s not true! You’re lying, my ship’s in a safe harbor and guarded by four thousand men. She’s safe!”
Someone said, “But not from God,” and then the Inquisitor was talking again, “The tidal wave heeled your ship. They say that oil lamps on deck were upset and the fire spread. Your ship’s gutted….”
“Lies! What about the deck watch? There’s always a deck watch! It’s impossible,” he shouted, but he knew that somehow the price for his life had been his ship.
“You’re beached, Ingeles,” Ferriera was goading him. “You’re marooned. You’re here forever, you’ll never get passage on one of our ships. You’re beached forever….”