Shōgun

So the commanders held their men in check while Toranaga’s galley was under the frigate’s wing, not daring to risk the merest chance that one of them would be the cause of the cessation of the Black Ships without General Ishido’s direct approval. And only when seamen on the frigate had doused the flames did they breathe easier.

When the arrows stopped, Blackthorne also began to relax. And Rodrigues. The plan was working. Rodrigues had surmised that under his lee the galley had a chance, its only chance. “But my Pilot says you must prepare for the unexpected, Ingeles,” Santiago had reported.

“Shove that bastard aside,” Ferriera said, “God damn it, I ordered you to shove him into the monkeys!”

“Five points to port!” Rodrigues ordered obligingly.

“Five points aport it is!” the helmsman echoed.

Blackthorne heard the command. Instantly he steered port five degrees and prayed. If Rodrigues held the course too long they would smash into the fishing boats and he lost. If he slackened the beat and fell behind, he knew the enemy boats would swamp him whether they believed Toranaga was aboard or not. He must stay alongside.

“Five points starboard!” Rodrigues ordered, just in time. He wanted no more fire arrows either; there was too much powder on deck. “Come on, you pimp,” he muttered to the wind. “Put your cojones in my sails and get us to hell out of here.”

Again Blackthorne had swung five points starboard to maintain station with the frigate and the two ships raced side by side, the galley’s starboard oars almost touching the frigate, the port oars almost swamping the fishing boats. Now the captain understood, and so did the oarsmaster and the rowers. They put their final strength into the oars. Yabu shouted a command and the ronin-samurai put down their bows and rushed to help and Yabu pitched in also.

Neck and neck. Only a few hundred yards to go.

Then Grays on some of the fishing boats, more intrepid than the others, sculled forward into their path and threw grappling hooks. The prow of the galley swamped the boats. The grappling hooks were cast overboard before they caught. The samurai holding them were drowned. And the stroke did not falter.

“Go more to port!”

“I daren’t, Captain-General. Toranaga’s no fool and look, there’s a reef ahead!”

Ferriera saw the spines near the last of the fishing boats. “Madonna, drive him onto it!”

“Two points port!”

Again the frigate swung over and so did Blackthorne. Both ships aimed for the massed fishing boats. Blackthorne had also seen the rocks. Another boat was swamped and a salvo of arrows came aboard. He held his course as long as he dared, then shouted, “Five points starboard!” to warn Rodrigues, and swung the helm over.

Rodrigues took evasive action and fell away. But this time he held a slight collision course which was not part of the plan.

“Go on, you bastard,” Rodrigues said, whipped by the chase and by dread. “Let’s weigh your cojones.”

Blackthorne had to choose instantly between the spines and the frigate. He blessed the rowers, who still stayed at their oars, and the crew and all aboard who, through their discipline, gave him the privilege of choice. And he chose.

He swung further to starboard, pulled out his pistol and aimed it. “Make way, by God!” he shouted and pulled the trigger. The ball whined over the frigate’s quarterdeck just between the Captain-General and Rodrigues.

As the Captain-General ducked, Rodrigues winced. Thou Ingeles son of a milkless whore! Was that luck or good shooting or did you aim to kill?

He saw the second pistol in Blackthorne’s hand, and Toranaga staring at him. He dismissed Toranaga as unimportant.

Blessed Mother of God, what should I do? Stick with the plan or change it? Isn’t it better to kill this Ingeles? For the good of all? Tell me, yes or no!

Answer thyself, Rodrigues, on thy eternal soul! Art thou not a man?

Listen then: Other heretics will follow this Ingeles now, like lice, whether this one is killed or not killed. I owe him a life and I swear I do not have the killing blood in me—not to kill a pilot.

“Starboard your helm,” he ordered and gave way.

“My Master asks why did you almost smash into the galley?”

“It was just a game, senhora, a game pilots play. To test the other’s nerves.”

“And the pistol shot?”

“Equally a game—to test my nerve. The rocks were too close and perhaps I was pushing the Ingeles too much. We are friends, no?”

“My Master says it is foolish to play such games.”

“Please give him my apologies. The important thing is that he is safe and now the galley is safe and therefore I am glad. Honto.”

“You arranged this escape, this ruse, with the Anjin-san?”

“It happened that he is very clever and was perfect in his timing. The moon lit his way, the sea favored him, and no one made a mistake. But why the hostiles didn’t swamp him, I don’t know. It was the will of God.”

“Was it?” Ferriera said. He was staring at the galley astern of them and he did not turn around.