Shōgun

He jumped up, hurled himself into the saddle, jammed his heels into the horse’s sides, and, together with the other man, he fled. Other ronin-cavalry galloped out of the night to guard their retreat and cut down the leading Grays. Then they too vanished, a few Gray horsemen in pursuit.

Laughter erupted over the ship.

Toranaga was pounding the gunwale with his fist in glee, Yabu and the samurai were roaring. Even Mariko was laughing.

“One man got away, but what about all the dead?” Blackthorne cried out enraged. “Look ashore—there must be three, four hundred bodies there. Look at them, for Christ’s sake!”

But his shout did not come through the laughter.

Then a cry of alarm from the bow lookout. And the laughter died.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Toranaga said calmly, “Can we break through them, Captain?” He was watching the grouped fishing boats five hundred yards ahead, and the tempting passage they had left between them.

“No, Sire.”

“We’ve no alternative,” Yabu said. “There’s nothing else we can do.” He glared aft at the massed Grays who waited on the shore and the jetty, their faint, jeering insults riding on the wind.

Toranaga and Yabu were on the forepoop now. The drum had been silenced and the galley wallowed in a light sea. All aboard waited to see what would be decided. They knew that they were bottled tight. Ashore disaster, ahead disaster, to wait disaster. The net would come closer and closer and then they would be captured. If need be, Ishido could wait days.

Yabu was seething. If we’d rushed for the harbor mouth directly we’d boarded instead of wasting useless time over Buntaro, we’d be safely out to sea by now, he told himself. Toranaga’s losing his wits. Ishido will believe I betrayed him. There’s nothing I can do—unless we can fight our way out, and even then I’m committed to fight for Toranaga against Ishido. Nothing I can do. Except give Ishido Toranaga’s head. Neh? That would make you a Regent and bring you the Kwanto, neh? And then with six months of time and the musket samurai, why not even President of the Council of Regents? Or why not the big prize! Eliminate Ishido and become Chief General of the Heir, Lord Protector and Governor of Osaka Castle, the controlling general of all the legendary wealth in the donjon, with power over the Empire during Yaemon’s minority, and afterwards power second only to Yaemon. Why not?

Or even the biggest prize of all. Shōgun. Eliminate Yaemon, then you’ll be Shōgun.

All for a single head and some benevolent gods!

Yabu’s knees felt weak as his longing soared. So easy to do, he thought, but no way to take the head and escape—yet.

“Order attack stations!” Toranaga commanded at last.

As Yabu gave the orders and samurai began to prepare, Toranaga turned his attention to the barbarian, who was still near the forepoop, where he had stopped when the alarm was given, leaning against the short mainmast.

I wish I could understand him, Toranaga thought. One moment so brave, the next so weak. One moment so valuable, the next so useless. One moment killer, the next coward. One moment docile, the next dangerous. He’s man and woman, Yang and Yin. He’s nothing but opposites, and unpredictable. Toranaga had studied him carefully during the escape from the castle, during the ambush and after it. He had heard from Mariko and the captain and others what had happened during the fight aboard. He had witnessed the astonishing anger a few moments ago and then, when Buntaro had been sent off, he had heard the shout and had seen through veiled eyes the stretched ugliness on the man’s face, and then, when there should have been laughter, only anger.

Why not laughter when an enemy’s outsmarted? Why not laughter to empty the tragedy from you when karma interrupts the beautiful death of a true samurai, when karma causes the useless death of a pretty girl? Isn’t it only through laughter that we become one with the gods and thus can endure life and can overcome all the horror and waste and suffering here on earth? Like tonight, watching all those brave men meet their fate here, on this shore, on this gentle night, through a karma ordained a thousand lifetimes ago, or perhaps even one.

Isn’t it only through laughter we can stay human?

Why doesn’t the pilot realize he’s governed by karma too, as I am, as we all are, as even this Jesus the Christ was, for, if the truth were known, it was only his karma that made him die dishonored like a common criminal with other common criminals, on the hill the barbarian priests tell about.

All karma.

How barbaric to nail a man to a piece of wood and wait for him to die. They’re worse than the Chinese, who are pleasured by torture.

“Ask him, Yabu-san!” Toranaga said.

“Sire?”

“Ask him what to do. The pilot. Isn’t this a sea battle? Haven’t you told me the pilot’s a genius at sea? Good, let’s see if you’re right. Let him prove it.”