Shōgun

They were well beyond the harbor mouth now, safely out into the Osaka Roads, the galley a few cables aft, neither ship hurrying. Most of the galley’s oars had been shipped temporarily, leaving only enough to make way calmly while the majority of the oarsmen recuperated.

Rodrigues paid Captain-General Ferriera no heed. He was absorbed instead with Toranaga. I’m glad we’re on Toranaga’s side, Rodrigues told himself. During the race, he had studied him carefully, glad for the rare opportunity. The man’s eyes had been everywhere, watching gunners and guns and the sails and the fire party with an insatiable curiosity, asking questions, through Mariko, of the seamen or the mate: What’s this for? How do you load a cannon? How much powder? How do you fire them? What are these ropes for?

“My Master says, perhaps it was just karma. You understand karma, Captain-Pilot?”

“Yes.”

“He thanks you for the use of your ship. Now he will go back to his own.”

“What?” Ferriera turned around at once. “We’ll be in Yedo long before the galley. Lord Toranaga’s welcome to stay aboard.”

“My Master says, there’s no need to trouble you anymore. He will go onto his own ship.”

“Please ask him to stay. I would enjoy his company.”

“Lord Toranaga thanks you but he wishes to go at once to his own ship.”

“Very well. Do as he says, Rodrigues. Signal her and lower the longboat.” Ferriera was disappointed. He had wanted to see Yedo and wanted to get to know Toranaga better now that so much of their future was tied to him. He did not believe what Toranaga had said about the means of avoiding war. We’re at war on this monkey’s side against Ishido whether we like it or not. And I don’t like it. “I’ll be sorry not to have Lord Toranaga’s company.” He bowed politely.

Toranaga bowed back, and spoke briefly.

“My Master thanks you.” To Rodrigues, she added, “My Master says he will reward you for the galley when you return with the Black Ship.”

“I did nothing. It was merely a duty. Please excuse me for not getting up from my chair—my leg, neh?” Rodrigues replied, bowing. “Go with God, senhora.”

“Thank you, Captain-Pilot. Do thou likewise.”

As she groped wearily down the companionway behind Toranaga, she noticed that the bosun Pesaro was commanding the longboat. Her skin crawled and she almost heaved. She willed the spasm away, thankful that Toranaga had ordered them all off this malodorous vessel.

“A fair wind and safe voyage,” Ferriera called down to them. He waved once and the salutation was returned and then the longboat cast off.

“Stand down when the longboat’s back and that bitch galley’s out of sight,” he ordered the chief gunner.

On the quarterdeck he stopped in front of Rodrigues. He pointed at the galley. “You’ll live to regret keeping him alive.”

“That’s in the hands of God. The Ingeles is an ‘acceptable’ pilot, if you could pass over his religion, my Captain-General.”

“I’ve considered that.”

“And?”

“The sooner we’re in Macao the better. Make record time, Rodrigues.” Ferriera went below.

Rodrigues’ leg was throbbing badly. He took a swig from the grog sack. May Ferriera go to hell, he told himself. But, please God, not until we reach Lisbon.

The wind veered slightly and a cloud reached for the nimbus of the moon, rain not far off and dawn streaking the sky. He put his full attention on his ship and her sails and the lie of her. When he was completely satisfied, he watched the longboat. And finally the galley.

He sipped more rum, content that his plan had worked so neatly. Even the pistol shot that had closed the issue. And content with his decision.

It was mine to make and I made it.

“Even so, Ingeles,” he said with a great sadness, “the Captain-General’s right. With thee, heresy has come to Eden.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“Anjin-san?”

“Hai?” Blackthorne swooped out of a deep sleep.

“Here’s some food. And cha.”

For a moment he could not remember who he was or where he was. Then he recognized his cabin aboard the galley. A shaft of sunlight was piercing the darkness. He felt greatly rested. There was no drumbeat now and even in his deepest sleep, his senses had told him that the anchor was being lowered and his ship was safe, near shore, the sea gentle.

He saw a maid carrying a tray, Mariko beside her—her arm no longer in a sling—and he was lying in the pilot’s bunk, the same that he had used during the Rodrigues voyage from Anjiro village to Osaka and that was now, in a way, almost as familiar as his own bunk and cabin aboard Erasmus. Erasmus! It’ll be grand to be back aboard and to see the lads again.

He stretched luxuriously, then took the cup of cha Mariko offered.

“Thank you. That’s delicious. How’s your arm?”

“Much better, thank you.” Mariko flexed it to show him. “It was just a flesh wound.”

“You’re looking better, Mariko-san.”

“Yes, I’m better now.”

When she had come back aboard at dawn with Toranaga she had been near fainting. “Better to stay aloft,” he had told her. “The sickness will leave you faster.”