Shōgun

It had been clear to Toranaga from the size of the longboat that he could take only five guards with him. But this, too, had been anticipated and the final plan was simple: if he could not persuade the frigate to help, then he and his guards would kill the Captain-General, their pilot, and the priests and barricade themselves in one of the cabins. Simultaneously the galley would be flung at the frigate from her bow as the Anjin-san had suggested and, together, they would try to take the frigate by storm. They would take her or they would not take her, but either way there would be a quick solution.

“It is a good plan, Yabu-san,” he had said.

“Please allow me to go in your place to negotiate.”

“They would not agree.”

“Very well, but once we’re out of the trap expel all barbarians from our realm. If you do, you’ll gain more daimyos than you lose.”

“I’ll consider it,” Toranaga had said, knowing it was nonsense, that he must have the Christian daimyos Onoshi and Kiyama on his side, and therefore the other Christian daimyos, or by default he would be eaten up. Why would Yabu wish to go to the frigate? What treachery did he plan if there was no help?

“Sire,” Alvito was saying for dell’Aqua, “may I invite the Anjin-san to accompany us?”

“Why?”

“It occurred to me that he might like to greet his colleague the anjin Rodrigues. The man has a broken leg and cannot come here. Rodrigues would like to see him again, thank him for saving his life, if you don’t mind.”

Toranaga could not think of any reason why the Anjin-san should not go. The man was under his protection, therefore inviolate. “If he wishes to do so, very well. Mariko-san, accompany Tsukku-san.”

Mariko bowed. She knew her job was to listen and to report and to ensure that everything that was said was reported correctly, without omission. She felt better now, her coiffure and face once more perfect, a fresh kimono borrowed from Lady Fujiko, her left arm in a neat sling. One of the mates, an apprentice doctor, had dressed her wound. The slice into her upper arm had not cut a tendon and the wound itself was clean. A bath would have made her whole, but there were no facilities on the galley.

Together she and Alvito walked back to the quarterdeck. He saw the knife in Blackthorne’s sash and the way the soiled kimono seemed to fit. How far has he leeched his way into Toranaga’s confidence, he asked himself. “Well met, Captain-Pilot Blackthorne.”

“Rot in hell, Father!” Blackthorne replied affably.

“Perhaps we’ll meet there, Anjin-san. Perhaps we will. Toranaga said you can come aboard the frigate.”

“His orders?”

“ ‘If you wish,’ he said.”

“I don’t wish.”

“Rodrigues would like to thank you again and to see you.”

“Give him my respects and say I’ll see him in hell. Or here.”

“His leg prevents that.”

“How is his leg?”

“Healing. Through your help and the grace of God, in a few weeks, God willing, he will walk, though he will limp forever.”

“Tell him I wish him well. You’d better be going, Father, time’s a-wasting.”

“Rodrigues would like to see you. There’s grog on the table and a fine roast capon with fresh greens and gravy and new fresh bread, butter hot. It’d be sad, Pilot, to waste such food.”

“What?”

“There’s new golden bread, Captain-Pilot, fresh hardtack, butter, and a side of beef. Fresh oranges from Goa and even a gallon of Madeira wine to wash it down with, or brandy if you’d prefer. There’s beer, too. Then there’s Macao capon, hot and juicy. The Captain-General’s an epicure.”

“God damn you to hell!”

“He will, when it pleases Him. I only tell you what exists.”

“What does ‘epicure’ mean?” Mariko asked.

“It’s one who enjoys food and sets a fine table, Senhora Maria,” Alvito said, using her baptismal name. He had marked the sudden change on Blackthorne’s face. He could almost see the saliva glands working and feel the stomach-churning agony. Tonight when he had seen the repast set out in the great cabin, the gleaming silver and white tablecloth and chairs, real leather-cushioned chairs, and smelt the new breads and butter and rich meats, he himself had been weak with hunger, and he wasn’t starved for food or unaccustomed to Japanese cuisine.

It is so simple to catch a man, he told himself. All you need to know is the right bait. “Good-by, Captain-Pilot!” Alvito turned and walked for the gangway. Blackthorne followed.

“What’s amiss, Ingeles?” Rodrigues asked.

“Where’s the food? Then we can talk. First the food you promised.” Blackthorne, stood shakily on the main deck.

“Please follow me,” Alvito said.

“Where are you taking him, Father?”

“Of course to the great cabin. Blackthorne can eat while Lord Toranaga and the Captain-General talk.”

“No. He can eat in my cabin.”

“It’s easier, surely, to go where the food is.”

“Bosun! See that the pilot’s fed at once—all that he needs, in my cabin, anything from the table. Ingeles, do you want grog, or wine or beer?”

“Beer first, then grog.”