Shōgun

She was very fleet and he did not catch up with her as they rounded the corner and headed across the open space. He had never felt so naked. The moment they appeared, the Grays spotted them and surged forward. Soon they were surrounded, Mariko jabbering feverishly with the samurai and the Grays. Then he too added to the babel in a panting mixture of Portuguese, English, and Dutch, motioning them to hurry, and groped for the gangway to lean against it, not needing to pretend that he was badly winded. He tried to see inside the ship but could make out nothing distinctly, only many heads appearing at the gunwale. He could see the shaven pates of many samurai and many seamen. He could not discern the color of the kimonos.

From behind, one of the Grays was talking rapidly to him, and he turned around, telling him that he didn’t understand—to go there, quickly, back up the street where the God-cursed battle was going on. “Wakarimasu ka? Get your scuttle-tailed arse to hell out of here! Wakarimasu ka? The fight’s there!”

Mariko was frantically haranguing the senior officer of the Grays. The officer came back toward the ship and shouted orders. Immediately more than a hundred samurai, all Grays, began pouring off the ship. He sent a few north along the shore to intercept the wounded and help them if necessary. One was sent scurrying off to get help from the Grays near the Portuguese galley. Leaving ten men behind to guard the gangway, he led the remainder in a rush for the street which curled away from the dock, up to the city proper.

Mariko came up to Blackthorne. “Does the ship seem all right to you?” she asked.

“She’s floating.” With a great effort Blackthorne grasped the gangway ropes and pulled himself on deck. Mariko followed. Two Browns came after her.

The seamen packing the port gunwale gave way. Four Grays were guarding the quarterdeck and two more were on the forepoop. All were armed with bows and arrows as well as swords.

Mariko questioned one of the sailors. The man answered her obligingly. “They’re all sailors hired to take Kiritsubo-san to Yedo,” she told Blackthorne.

“Ask him . . .” Blackthorne stopped as he recognized the short, squat mate he had made captain of the galley after the storm. “Konbanwa, Captain-san!”—Good evening.

“Konbanwa, Anjin-san. Watashi iyé Captain-san ima,” the mate replied with a grin, shaking his head. He pointed at a lithe sailor with an iron-gray stubbly queue who stood alone on the quarterdeck. “Imasu Captain-san!”

“Ah, so desu? Halloa, Captain-san!” Blackthorne called out and bowed, and lowered his voice. “Mariko-san, find out if there are any Grays below.”

Before she could say anything the captain had bowed back and shouted to the mate. The mate nodded and replied at length. Some of the sailors also voiced their agreement. The captain and all aboard were very impressed.

“Ah, so desu, Anjin-san!” Then the captain cried out, “Keirei!”—Salute! All aboard, except the samurai, bowed to Blackthorne in salute.

Mariko said, “This mate told the captain that you saved the ship during the storm, Anjin-san. You did not tell us about the storm or your voyage.”

“There’s little to tell. It was just another storm. Please thank the captain and say I’m happy to be aboard again. Ask him if we’re ready to leave when the others arrive.” And added quietly, “Find out if there are any more Grays below.”

She did as she was ordered.

The captain came over and she asked for more information and then, picking up the captain’s cue concerning the importance of Blackthorne aboard, she bowed to Blackthorne. “Anjin-san, he thanks you for the life of his ship and says they’re ready,” adding softly, “About the other, he doesn’t know.”

Blackthorne glanced ashore. There was no sign of Buntaro or the column to the north. The samurai sent running southward toward the Santa Theresa was still a hundred yards from his destination, unnoticed as yet. “What now?” he said, when he could stand the waiting no longer.

She was asking herself, Is the ship safe? Decide.

“That man’ll get there any moment,” he said, looking at the frigate.

“What?”

He pointed. “That one—the samurai!”

“What samurai? I’m sorry, I can’t see that far, Anjin-san. I can see everything on the ship, though the Grays to the front of the ship are misted. What man?”

He told her, adding in Latin, “Now he is barely fifty paces away. Now he is seen. We need assistance gravely. Who giveth the sign? With importance it should be given quickly.”

“My husband, is there any sign of him?” she asked in Portuguese.

He shook his head.

Sixteen Grays stand between my Master and his safety, she told herself. Oh Madonna, protect him!

Then, committing her soul to God, frightened that she was making the wrong decision, she went weakly to the head of the gangway and pretended to faint.