Shōgun

“To the east of the city,” Uraga said haltingly, his mouth dry. “To our Nichiren shrine.”

“Ah, you’re Nichiren, neh?”

Another samurai said roughly, “I’m not one of those. I’m Zen Buddhist like the Lord General.”

“Zen—ah yes, Zen’s the best,” another said. “Wish I could understand that. It’s too hard for my old head.”

“He’s sweating a lot for a priest, isn’t he? Why are you sweating?”

“You mean priests don’t sweat?”

A few laughed and someone held a flare closer.

“Why should they sweat?” the rough man said. “All they do is sleep all day and pillow all night—nuns, boys, dogs, themselves, anything they can get—and all the time stuff themselves with food they’ve never labored for. Priests are parasites, like fleas.”

“Eh, leave him alone, he’s just—”

“Take off your hat, priest.”

Uraga stiffened. “Why? And why taunt a man who serves Buddha? Buddha’s doing you no—”

The samurai stepped forward pugnaciously. “I said take off your hat!”

Uraga obeyed. His head was newly shaven as a priest’s should be and he blessed whatever kami or spirit or gift from Buddha had prompted him to take that added precaution in case he was caught breaking curfew. All the Anjin-san’s samurai had been ordered confined to the vessel by the port authorities, pending instructions from higher up. “There’s no cause to have foul manners,” he flared with a Jesuit’s unconscious authority. “Serving Buddha’s an honorable life, and becoming a priest is honorable and should be the final part of every samurai’s old age. Or do you know nothing of bushido? Where are your manners?”

“What? You’re samurai?”

“Of course I’m samurai. How else would I dare to talk to samurai about bad manners?” Uraga put on his hat. “It would be better for you to be patrolling than accosting and insulting innocent priests!” He walked off haughtily, his knees weak.

The samurai watched him for a time, then one spat. “Priests!”

“He was right,” the senior samurai said sourly. “Where are your manners?”

“So sorry. Please excuse me.”

Uraga walked along the road, very proud of himself. Nearer the galley he became wary again and waited a moment in the lee of a building. Then, gathering himself together, he walked into the flare-lit area.

“Good evening,” he said politely to the Grays who lolled beside the gangplank, then added the religious blessing, “Namu Amida Butsu,” In the Name of the Buddha Amida.

“Thank you. Namu Amida Butsu.” The Grays let him pass without hindrance. Their orders were that the barbarian and all samurai were forbidden ashore except for Yabu and his honor guard. No one had said anything about the Buddhist priest who traveled with the ship.

Greatly tired now, Uraga came onto the main deck.

“Uraga-san,” Blackthorne called out softly from the quarterdeck. “Over here.”

Uraga squinted to adjust his eyes to the darkness. He saw Blackthorne and he smelt the stale, brassy body aroma and knew that the second shadow there had to be the other barbarian with the unpronounceable name who could also speak Portuguese. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be away from the barbarian odor that was part of his life. The Anjin-san was the only one he had met who did not reek, which was one reason why he could serve him.

“Ah, Anjin-san,” he whispered and picked his way over to him, briefly greeting the ten guards who were scattered around the deck.

He waited at the foot of the gangway until Blackthorne motioned him up onto the quarterdeck. “It went very—”

“Wait,” Blackthorne cautioned him as softly and pointed. “Look ashore. Over there, near the warehouse. See him? No, north a little—there, you see him now?” A shadow moved briefly, then merged into the darkness again.

“Who was it?”

“I’ve been watching you ever since you came into the road. He’s been dogging you. You never saw him?”

“No, Sire,” Uraga replied, his foreboding returning to him. “I saw no one, felt no one.”

“He didn’t have swords, so he wasn’t samurai. A Jesuit?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so—I was most careful there. Please excuse me that I didn’t see him.”

“Never mind.” Blackthorne glanced at Vinck. “Go below now, Johann. I’ll finish this watch and wake you at dawn. Thanks for waiting.”

Vinck touched his forelock and went below. The dank smell left with him. “I was getting worried about you,” Blackthorne said. “What happened?”

“Yabu-sama’s messenger was slow, Anjin-san. Here is my report: I went with Yabu-sama and waited outside the castle from noon till just after dark when—”

“What were you doing all that time? Exactly?”