Shogun

muted. The guard was resting easily, waiting out their watch. Small water lapped the hull and the ropes creaked pleasantly.

After a moment, Uraga said, “Perhaps Chimmoko brought a summons—a request for the Father-Visitor to go to her. She was surely under guard when she crossed First Bridge. Surely Toda Mariko-noh-Buntaro-noh-Jinsai was under guard from the first moments she crossed from Lord Toranaga’s borders. Neh? ”

“Can we know if the Father-Visitor goes to the castle?”

“Yes. That is easy.”

“How to know what’s said—or what’s done?”

“That is very hard. Very sorry, but they would speak Portuguese or Latin, neh? And who speaks both but you and me? I would be recognized by both.” Uraga motioned at the castle and at the city. “There are many Christians there. Any would gain great favor by removing you, or me— neh?”

Blackthorne did not answer. No answer was needed. He was seeing the donjon etched against the stars and he remembered Uraga telling him about the legendary, limitless treasure it protected, the Taiko’s plunder-levy of the Empire. But now his mind was on what Toranaga might be doing and thinking and planning, and exactly where Mariko was and what was the use of going on to Nagasaki. ‘Then you’re saying the nineteenth day is the last day, a death day, Yabu-san?’ he had repeated, almost nauseated by the knowledge that the trap was sprung on Toranaga. And therefore on him and Erasmus.

“Shigata ga nai! We go quickly Nagasaki and back again. Quick, understand? Only four days to get men. Then come back.’

‘But why? When Toranaga here, all die, neh?’ he had said. But Yabu had gone ashore, telling him that the day after tomorrow they would leave. In a ferment he had watched him go, wishing that he had brought Erasmus and not the galley. If he had had Erasmus he knew that he would have somehow bypassed Osaka and headed straight for Nagasaki, or even more probably, he would have limped off over the horizon to find some snug harbor and taken time out from eternity to train his vassals to work the ship.

You’re a fool, he flayed himself. With the few crew you’ve got now you couldn’t have docked her here, let alone found that harbor to wait out the devil storm. You’d be dead already.

“No worry, Sire. Karma,” Uraga was saying.

“Aye. Karma.” Then Blackthorne heard danger seaward and his body moved before his mind ordered it and he was twisting as the arrow swooshed past, missed him fractionally to shudder into the bulkhead. He lunged at Uraga to pull him down to safety as another arrow of the same volley hissed into Uraga’s throat, impaling him, and then they were both cowering in safety on the deck, Uraga shrieking and samurai shouting and peering over the gunwale out to sea. Grays from the shore guard poured aboard. Another volley came out of the night from the sea and everyone scattered for cover. Blackthorne crawled to the gunwale and peeped through a scupper and saw a nearby fishing boat dousing its flare to vanish into the darkness. All the boats were doing the same, and for a split second he saw scullers pulling away frantically, light glinting off swords and bows.

Uraga’s shrieking subsided into a burbling, gut-shattering agony as Grays rushed onto the quarterdeck, bows ready, the whole ship now in an uproar. Vinck came on deck fast, pistol ready, ducked over as he ran. “Christ, what’s going on—you all right, Pilot?”

“Yes. Watch out—they’re in the fishing boats!” Blackthorne slithered back to Uraga, who was clawing at the shaft, blood seeping from his nose and mouth and ears.

“Jesus,” Vinck gasped.

Blackthorne took hold of the arrow’s barb with one hand and put his other on the warm, pulsing flesh and pulled with all his strength. The arrow came out cleanly but in its wake blood gushed in a pumping stream. Uraga began to choke.

Now Grays and Blackthorne’s own samurai surrounded them. Some had brought shields and they covered Blackthorne, heedless of their own safety. Others quaked in safety though the danger was over. Others were raging at the night, firing at the night, ordering the vanished fishing boats back.

Blackthorne held Uraga in his arms helplessly, knowing there was something he should do but not knowing what, knowing nothing could be done, the frantic sick-sweet-death smell clogging his nostrils, his brain shrieking as always, ‘Christ Jesus, thank God it’s not my blood, not mine, thank God.’

He saw Uraga’s eyes begging, the mouth working with no sound but choking, the chest heaving, then he saw his own fingers move of themselves and they made the sign of the cross before the eyes and he felt Uraga’s body shuddering, fluttering, the mouth howling soundlessly, reminding him of any one of the impaled fish.

It took Uraga a hideous time to die.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Now Blackthorne was walking in the castle with his honor guard of twenty vassals surrounded by ten times that number of escorting Grays. Proudly he wore a new uniform, Brown kimono with the five Toranaga ciphers and, for the first time, a formal, huge-winged over-mantle. His golden wavy hair was tied in a neat queue. The swords that Toranaga had given him jutted from his sash correctly. His feet were encased in new tabi and thonged sandals.

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 Taiko 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