Shogun

Van Nekk, Pieterzoon, Sonk, Maetsukker, Ginsel, Jan Roper, Salamon, Maximilian Croocq, and Vinck.

Again he said, “Who wants to pick first?”

“How do we know that—that the one who picks the wrong, the short straw’ll go? How do we know that?” Maetsukker’s voice was raw with terror.

“We don’t. Not for certain. We should know for certain,” Croocq, the boy, said.

“That’s easy,” Jan Roper said. “Let’s swear we will do it in the name of God. In His name. To—to die for the others in His name. Then there’s no worry. The anointed Lamb of God will go straight to Everlasting Glory.”

They all agreed.

“Go on, Vinck. Do as Roper says.”

“All right.” Vinck’s lips were parched. “If—if it’s me—I swear by the Lord God that I’ll go with them if—if I pick the wrong straw. In God’s name.”

They all followed. Maetsukker was so frightened he had to be prompted before he sank back into the quagmire of his living nightmare.

Sonk chose first. Pieterzoon was next. Then Jan Roper, and after him Salamon and Croocq. Spillbergen felt himself dying fast because they had agreed he would not choose but his would be the last straw and now the odds were becoming terrible.

Ginsel was safe. Four left.

Maetsukker was weeping openly, but he pushed Vinck aside and took a straw and could not believe that it was not the one.

Spillbergen’s fist was shaking and Croocq helped him steady his arm. Feces ran unnoticed down his legs.

Which one do I take? van Nekk was asking himself desperately. Oh, God help me! He could barely see the straws through the fog of his myopia. If only I could see, perhaps I’d have a clue which to pick. Which one?

He picked and brought the straw close to his eyes to see his sentence clearly. But the straw was not short.

Vinck watched his fingers select the next to last straw and it fell to the ground but everyone saw that it was the shortest thus far. Spillbergen unclenched his knotted hand and everyone saw that the last straw was long. Spillbergen fainted.

They were all staring at Vinck. Helplessly he looked at them, not seeing them. He half shrugged and half smiled and waved absently at the flies. Then he slumped down. They made room for him, kept away from him as though he were a leper.

Blackthorne knelt in the ooze beside Spillbergen.

“Is he dead?” van Nekk asked, his voice almost inaudible.

Vinck shrieked with laughter, which unnerved them all, and ceased as violently as he had begun. “I’m the— the one that’s dead,” he said. “I’m dead!”

“Don’t be afraid. You’re the anointed of God. You’re in God’s hands,” Jan Roper said, his voice confident.

“Yes,” van Nekk said. “Don’t be afraid.”

“That’s easy now, isn’t it?” Vinck’s eyes went from face to face but none could hold his gaze. Only Blackthorne did not look away.

“Get me some water, Vinck,” he said quietly. “Go over to the barrel and get some water. Go on.”

Vinck stared at him. Then he got the gourd and filled it with water and gave it to him. “Lord Jesus God, Pilot,” he muttered, “what am I going to do?”

“First help me with Paulus. Vinck! Do what I say! Is he going to be all right?”

Vinck pushed his agony away, helped by Blackthorne’s calm. Spillbergen’s pulse was weak. Vinck listened to his heart, pulled the eyelids away, and watched for a moment. “I don’t know, Pilot. Lord Jesus, I can’t think properly. His heart’s all right, I think. He needs bleeding but—but I’ve no way—I—I can’t concentrate.?.?.?. Give me?.?.?.” He stopped exhaustedly, sat back against the wall. Shudders began to rack him.

The trapdoor opened.

Omi stood etched against the sky, his kimono blooded by the dying sun.

CHAPTER FOUR

Vinck tried to make his legs move but he could not. He had faced death many times in his life but never like this, meekly. It had been decreed by the straws. Why me? his brain screamed. I’m no worse than the others and better than most. Dear God in Heaven, why me?

A ladder had been lowered. Omi motioned for the one man to come up, and quickly. “Isogi! ” Hurry up!

Van Nekk and Jan Roper were praying silently, their eyes closed. Pieterzoon could not watch. Blackthorne was staring up at Omi and his men.

“Isogi!” Omi barked out again.

Once more Vinck tried to stand. “Help me, someone. Help me to get up!”

Pieterzoon, who was nearest, bent down and put his hand under Vinck’s arm and helped him to his feet, then Blackthorne was at the foot of the ladder, both feet planted firmly in the slime.

“Kinjiru!” he shouted, using the word from the ship. A gasp rushed through the cellar. Omi’s hand tightened on his sword and he moved to the ladder. Immediately Blackthorne twisted it, daring Omi to put a foot there.

“Kinjiru!” he said again.

Omi stopped.

“What’s going on?” Spillbergen asked, frightened, as were all of them.

“I told him it’s forbidden! None of my crew is walking to death without a fight.”

“But—but we agreed!”

“I didn’t.”

“Have you gone mad!”

“It’s all right, Pilot,” Vinck whispered. “I—we did agree and it was fair. It’s God’s will. I’m going—it’s?.?.?.” He groped to the foot of the ladder but Blackthorne stood implacably in the way, facing Omi.

“You’re not going without a fight. No one is.”

“Get away from the ladder, Pilot! You’re ordered away!” Spillbergen shakily kept to his corner, as far from the opening as possible. His voice shrilled, “Pilot!”

But Blackthorne was not listening. “Get ready!”

Omi stepped back a pace and snarled orders to his men. At once a samurai, closely followed by two others, started down the steps, swords unsheathed. Blackthorne twisted the ladder and grappled with the lead man, swerving from his violent sword blow, trying to choke the man to death.

“Help me! Come on! For your lives!”

Blackthorne changed his grip to pull the man off the rungs, braced sickeningly as the second man stabbed downward. Vinck came out of his cataleptic state and threw himself at the samurai, berserk. He intercepted the blow that would have sliced Blackthorne’s wrist off, held the shuddering sword arm at bay, and smashed his other fist into the man’s groin. The samurai gasped and kicked viciously. Vinck hardly seemed to notice the blow. He climbed the rungs and tore at the man for possession of the sword, his nails ripping at the man’s eyes. The other two samurai were hampered by the confined space and Blackthorne, but a kick from one of them caught Vinck in the face and he reeled away. The samurai on the ladder hacked at Blackthorne, missed, then the entire crew hurled themselves at the ladder.

Croocq hammered his fist onto the samurai’s instep and felt a small bone give. The man managed to throw his sword out of the pit—not wishing the enemy armed—and tumbled heavily to the mud. Vinck and Pieterzoon fell on him. He fought back ferociously as others rushed for the encroaching samurai. Blackthorne picked up the cornered Japanese’s dagger and started up the ladder, Croocq, Jan Roper, and Salamon following. Both samurai retreated and stood at the entrance, their killing swords viciously ready. Blackthorne knew his dagger was useless