Shōgun

“Here, let me help you.” Kana was very deft. “I used to do this for my father when the saké took him.”

“It’s good for a man to get drunk once in a while. It releases all the evil spirits.”

“Yes. But my father used to suffer badly the next day.”

“My husband suffers very badly. For days.”

After a moment, Kana said, “May Buddha grant that Lord Buntaro escapes.”

“Yes.” Mariko looked around the cabin. “I don’t understand how they can live in such squalor. It’s worse than the poorest of our people. I was almost fainting in the other cabin from the stench.”

“It’s revolting. I’ve never been aboard a barbarian ship before.”

“I’ve never been on the sea before.”

The door opened and the bosun set down the pail. He was shocked at Blackthorne’s nudity and jerked out a blanket from under the bunk and covered him. “He’ll catch his death. Apart from that—shameful to do that to a man, even him.”

“What?”

“Nothing. What’s your name, Donna Senhorita?” His eyes glittered.

She did not answer. She pushed the blanket aside and washed Blackthorne clean, glad for something to do, hating the cabin and the foul presence of the bosun, wondering what they were talking about in the other cabin. Is our Master safe?

When she had finished she bundled the kimono and soiled loincloth. “Can this be laundered, senhor?”

“Eh?”

“These should be cleaned at once. Could you send for a slave, please?”

“They’re a lazy bunch of black bastards, I told you. That’d take a week or more. Throw ’em away, Donna Senhorita, they’re not worth breath. Our Pilot-Captain Rodrigues said to give him proper clothes. Here.” He opened a sea locker. “He said to give him any from here.”

“I don’t know how to dress a man in those.”

“He needs a shirt ’n trousers ’n codpiece ’n socks and boots ’n sea jacket.” The bosun took them out and showed her. Then, together, she and the samurai began to dress Blackthorne, still in his half-conscious stupor.

“How does he wear this?” She held up the triangular, baglike codpiece with its attached strings.

“Madonna, he wears it in front, like this,” the bosun said, embarrassed, fingering his own. “You tie it in place over his trousers, like I told. Over his cod.”

She looked at the bosun’s, studying it. He felt her look and stirred.

She put the codpiece on Blackthorne and settled him carefully in place, and together she and the samurai put the back strings between his legs and tied the strings around his waist. To the samurai she said quietly, “This is the most ridiculous way of dressing I’ve ever seen.”

“It must be very uncomfortable,” Kana replied. “Do priests wear them, Mariko-san? Under their robes?”

“I don’t know.”

She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Senhor. Is the Anjin-san dressed correctly now?”

“Aye. Except for his boots. They’re there. They can wait.” The bosun came over to her and her nostrils clogged. He dropped his voice, keeping his back to the samurai. “You want a quickie?”

“What?”

“I fancy you, senhorita, eh? What’d you say? There’s a bunk in the next cabin. Send your friend aloft. The Ingeles’s out for an hour yet. I’ll pay the usual.”

“What?”

“You’ll earn a piece of copper—even three if you’re like a stoat, and you’ll straddle the best cock between here and Lisbon, eh? What d’you say?”

The samurai saw her horror. “What is it, Mariko-san?”

Mariko pushed past the bosun, away from the bunk. Her words stumbled. “He . . . he said . . .”

Kana drew out his sword instantly but found himself staring into the barrels of two cocked pistols. Nevertheless he began to lunge.

“Stop, Kana-san!” Mariko gasped. “Lord Toranaga forbade any attack until he ordered it!”

“Go on, monkey, come at me, you stink-pissed shithead! You! Tell this monkey to put up his sword or he’ll be a headless sonofabitch before he can fart!”

Mariko was standing within a foot of the bosun. Her right hand was still in her obi, the haft of the stiletto knife still in her palm. But she remembered her duty and took her hand away. “Kana-san, replace your sword. Please. We must obey Lord Toranaga. We must obey him.”

With a supreme effort, Kana did as he was told.

“I’ve a mind to send you to hell, Jappo!”

“Please excuse him, senhor, and me,” Mariko said, trying to sound polite. “There was a mistake, a mis—”

“That monkey-faced bastard pulled a sword. That wasn’t a mistake, by Jesus!”

“Please excuse it, senhor, so sorry.”

The bosun wet his lips. “I’ll forget it if you’re friendly, Little Flower. Into the next cabin with you, and tell this monk—tell him to stay here and I’ll forget about it.”

“What—what’s your name, senhor?”

“Pesaro. Manuel Pesaro, why?”

“Nothing. Please excuse the misunderstanding, Senhor Pesaro.”

“Get in the next cabin. Now.”

“What’s going on? What’s . . .” Blackthorne did not know if he was awake or still in a nightmare, but he felt the danger. “What’s going on, by God!”

“This stinking Jappo drew on me!”

“It was a—a mistake, Anjin-san,” Mariko said. “I—I’ve apologized to the Senhor Pesaro.”

“Mariko? Is that you—Mariko-san?”

“Hai, Anjin-san. Honto. Honto.”