Shōgun

“No,” Rodrigues replied with a laugh, his teeth white and fine and strong. “And in my house at Nagasaki I don’t eat meat either. At sea I do and in Europe. It’s our custom. A thousand years ago before the Buddha came it was your custom too, neh? Before Buddha lived to point the Tao, the Way, all people ate meat. Even here, senhora. Even here. Now of course, we know better, some of us, neh?”

Mariko thought about that. Then she said, “Do all Portuguese call us monkeys? And Jappos? Behind our backs?”

Rodrigues pulled at the earring he wore. “Don’t you call us barbarians? Even to our face? We’re civilized, at least we think so, senhora. In India, the land of Buddha, they call Japanese ‘Eastern Devils’ and won’t allow any to land if they’re armed. You call Indians ‘Blacks’ and nonhuman. What do the Chinese call Japanese? What do you call the Chinese? What do you call the Koreans? Garlic Eaters, neh?”

“I don’t think Lord Toranaga would be pleased. Or Lord Hiro-matsu, or even the father of your wife.”

“The Blessed Jesus said, ‘First cast the mote out of your own eye before you cast the beam out of mine.’ ”

She thought about that again now as she watched the first mate whispering urgently to the Portuguese pilot. It’s true: we sneer at other people. But then, we’re citizens of the Land of the Gods, and therefore especially chosen by the gods. We alone, of all peoples, are protected by a divine Emperor. Aren’t we, therefore, completely unique and superior to all others? And if you are Japanese and Christian? I don’t know. Oh, Madonna, give me thy understanding. This Rodrigues pilot is as strange as the English pilot. Why are they very special? Is it their training? It’s unbelievable what they do, neh? How can they sail around the earth and walk the sea as easily as we do the land? Would Rodrigues’ wife know the answer? I’d like to meet her, and talk to her.

The mate lowered his voice even more.

“He said what?” Rodrigues exclaimed with an involuntary curse and in spite of herself Mariko tried to listen. But she could not hear what the mate repeated. Then she saw them both look at Blackthorne and she followed their glance, perturbed by their concern.

“What else happened, Santiago?” Rodrigues asked guardedly, conscious of Mariko.

The mate told him in a whisper behind a cupped mouth. “How long’ll they stay below?”

“They were toasting each other. And the bargain.”

“Bastards!” Rodrigues caught the mate’s shirt. “No word of this, by God. On your life!”

“No need to say that, Pilot.”

“There’s always a need to say it.” Rodrigues glanced across at Blackthorne. “Wake him up!”

The mate went over and shook him roughly.

“Whatsamatter, eh?”

“Hit him!”

Santiago slapped him.

“Jesus Christ, I’ll . . .” Blackthorne was on his feet, his face on fire, but he swayed and fell.

“God damn you, wake up, Ingeles!” Furiously Rodrigues stabbed a finger at the two helmsmen. “Throw him overboard!”

“Eh?”

“Now, by God!”

As the two men hurriedly picked him up, Mariko said, “Pilot Rodrigues, you mustn’t—” but before she or Kana could interfere the two men had hurled Blackthorne over the side. He fell the twenty feet and belly-flopped in a cloud of spray and disappeared. In a moment he surfaced, choking and spluttering, flailing at the water, the ice-cold clearing his head.

Rodrigues was struggling out of his seachair. “Madonna, give me a hand!”

One of the helmsmen ran to help as the first mate got a hand under his armpit. “Christ Jesus, be careful, mind my foot, you clumsy dunghead!”

They helped him to the side. Blackthorne was still coughing and spluttering, but now as he swam for the side of the ship he was shouting curses at those who had cast him overboard.

“Two points starboard!” Rodrigues ordered. The ship fell off the wind slightly and eased away from Blackthorne. He shouted down, “Stay to hell off my ship!” Then urgently to his first mate, “Take the longboat, pick up the Ingeles, and put him aboard the galley. Fast. Tell him . . .” He dropped his voice.

Mariko was grateful that Blackthorne was not drowning. “Pilot! The Anjin-san’s under Lord Toranaga’s protection. I demand he be picked up at once!”

“Just a moment, Mariko-san!” Rodrigues continued to whisper to Santiago, who nodded, then scampered away. “I’m sorry, Mariko-san, gomen kudasai, but it was urgent. The Ingeles had to be woken up. I knew he could swim. He has to be alert and fast!”

“Why?”

“I’m his friend. Did he ever tell you that?”

“Yes. But England and Portugal are at war. Also Spain.”

“Yes. But pilots should be above war.”

“Then to whom do you owe duty?”

“To the flag.”

“Isn’t that to your king?”

“Yes and no, senhora. I owed the Ingeles a life.” Rodrigues was watching the longboat. “Steady as she goes—now put her into the wind,” he ordered the helmsman.

“Yes, senhor.”