Shōgun

“You don’t. Just tell the truth: they were brought by Rodrigues but that neither of us realized the sealed package contained the missing rutters. Indeed, we did not open them for two days. They were in truth forgotten in the excitement about the heretic. The rutters prove Blackthorne to be pirate, thief, and traitor. His own words will dispose of him once and for all, which is surely divine justice. Tell Toranaga the truth—that Mura gave them to Father Sebastio, as indeed happened, who sent them to us knowing we would know what to do with them. That clears Mura, Father Sebastio, everyone. We should tell Mura by carrier pigeon what has been done. I’m sure Toranaga will realize that we have had his interests at heart over Yabu’s. Does he know that Yabu’s made an arrangement with Ishido?”

“I would say certainly, Eminence. But rumor has it that Toranaga and Yabu are friends now.”

“I wouldn’t trust that Satan’s whelp.”

“I’m sure Toranaga doesn’t. Any more than Yabu has really made any commitment to him.”

Suddenly they were distracted by an altercation outside. The door opened and a cowled monk came barefooted into the room, shaking off Father Soldi. “The blessings of Jesus Christ upon you,” he said, his voice rasping with hostility. “May He forgive you your sins.”

“Friar Perez—what are you doing here?” dell’Aqua burst out.

“I’ve come back to this cesspit of a land to proclaim the word of God to the heathen again.”

“But you’re under Edict never to return on pain of immediate death for inciting to riot. You escaped the Nagasaki martyrdom by a miracle and you were ordered—”

“That was God’s will, and a filthy heathen Edict of a dead maniac has nothing to do with me,” the monk said. He was a short, lean Spaniard with a long unkempt beard. “I’m here to continue God’s work.” He glanced at Father Alvito. “How’s trade, Father?”

“Fortunately for Spain, very good,” Alvito replied icily.

“I don’t spend time in the counting house, Father. I spend it with my flock.”

“That’s commendable,” dell’Aqua said sharply. “But spend it where the Pope ordered—outside of Japan. This is our exclusive province. And it’s also Portuguese territory, not Spanish. Do I have to remind you that three Popes have ordered all denominations out of Japan except us? King Philip also ordered the same.”

“Save your breath, Eminence. The work of God surpasses earthly orders. I’m back and I’ll throw open the doors of the churches and beseech the multitudes to rise up against the ungodly.”

“How many times must you be warned? You can’t treat Japan like an Inca protectorate peopled with jungle savages who have neither history nor culture. I forbid you to preach and insist you obey Holy orders.”

“We will convert the heathen. Listen, Eminence, there’s another hundred of my brothers in Manila waiting for ships here, good Spaniards all, and lots of our glorious conquistadores to protect us if need be. We’ll preach openly and we’ll wear our robes openly, not skulk about in idolatrous silken shirts like Jesuits!”

“You must not agitate the authorities or you’ll reduce Mother Church to ashes!”

“I tell you to your face we’re coming back to Japan and we’ll stay in Japan. We’ll preach the Word in spite of you—in spite of any prelate, bishop, king, or even any pope, for the glory of God!” The monk slammed the door behind him.

Flushed with rage, dell’Aqua poured a glass of Madeira. A little of the wine slopped onto the polished surface of his desk. “Those Spaniards will destroy us all.” Dell’Aqua drank slowly, trying to calm himself. At length he said, “Martin, send some of our people to watch him. And you’d better warn Kiyama and Onoshi at once. There’s no telling what’ll happen if that fool flaunts himself in public.”

“Yes, Eminence.” At the door Alvito hesitated. “First Blackthorne and now Perez. It’s almost too much of a coincidence. Perhaps the Spaniards in Manila knew about Blackthorne and let him come here just to bedevil us.”

“Perhaps, but probably not.” Dell’Aqua finished his glass and set it down carefully. “In any event, with the help of God and due diligence, neither of them will be permitted to harm the Holy Mother Church—whatever the cost.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

“I’ll be a God-cursed Spaniard if this isn’t the life!”

Blackthorne lay seraphically on his stomach on thick futons, wrapped partially in a cotton kimono, his head propped on his arms. The girl was running her hands over his back, probing his muscles occasionally, soothing his skin and his spirit, making him almost want to purr with pleasure. Another girl was pouring saké into a tiny porcelain cup. A third waited in reserve, holding a lacquer tray with a heaping bamboo basket of deep-fried fish in Portuguese style, another flask of saké, and some chopsticks.

“Nan desu ka, Anjin-san?” What is it, Honorable Pilot—what did you say?

“I can’t say that in Nihon-go, Rako-san.” He smiled at the girl who offered the saké. Instead he pointed at the cup. “What’s this called? Namae ka?”