Shōgun

“Please excuse me, Highness,” Blackthorne began, using his time-tried stock phrase, stumbling slightly in his nervousness. “So sorry, but I have to use short words and respectfully ask you to use very simple words to me so that I may have the honor of understanding you.” He knew that without doubt his life could easily depend on his answers. All attention in the room was on them now. Then he noticed Yabu moving carefully through the throng, coming closer. “May I respectfully congratulate you on your birthday and pray that you live to enjoy a thousand more.”

“These are hardly simple words, Anjin-san,” Lady Ochiba said, very impressed.

“Please excuse me, Highness. I learn that last night. The right way to say, neh?”

“Who taught you that?”

“Uraga-noh-Tadamasa, my vassal.”

She frowned, then glanced at Ishido, who bent forward and spoke, too rapidly for Blackthorne to catch anything other than the word “arrows.”

“Ah, the renegade Christian priest who was killed last night on your ship?”

“Highness?”

“The man—samurai who was killed, neh? Last night on ship. You understand?”

“Ah, so sorry. Yes, him.” Blackthorne glanced at Ishido, then back at her. “Please excuse me, Highness, your permission greet the Lord General?”

“Yes, you have that permission.”

“Good evening, Lord General,” Blackthorne said with studied politeness. “Last time meet, I very terrible mad. So sorry.”

Ishido returned the bow perfunctorily. “Yes, you were. And very impolite. I hope you won’t get mad tonight or any other night.”

“Very mad that night, please excuse me.”

“That madness is usual among barbarians, neh?”

Such public rudeness to a guest was very bad. Blackthorne’s eyes flashed to Lady Ochiba for an instant and he discerned surprise in her too. So he gambled. “Ah, Lord General, you are most very right. Barbarian always same madness. But, so sorry, now I am samurai—hatamoto—this great, so very great honor to me. I am no longer barbarian.” He used his quarterdeck voice which carried without shouting and filled all the corners of the room. “Now I understand samurai manners—and little bushido. And wa. I am no longer barbarian, please excuse. Neh?” He spoke the last word as a challenge, unafraid. He knew that Japanese understood masculinity and pride, and honored them.

Ishido laughed. “So, samurai Anjin-san,” he said, jovial now. “Yes, I accept your apology. Rumors about your courage are true. Good, very good. I should apologize also. Terrible that filthy ronin could do such a thing, you understand? Attack in night?”

“Yes, I understand, Sire. Very bad. Four men dead. One of my, three Grays.”

“Listen, bad, very bad. Don’t worry, Anjin-san. No more.” Thoughtfully Ishido glanced at the room. Everyone understood him very clearly. “Now I order guards. Understand? Very careful guards. No more assassin attacks. None. You very carefully guarded now. Quite safe in castle.”

“Thank you. So sorry for trouble.”

“No trouble. You important, neh? You samurai. You have special samurai place with Lord Toranaga. I don’t forget—never fear.”

Blackthorne thanked Ishido again and turned to the Lady Ochiba. “Highness, in my land we has Queen—have Queen. Please excuse my bad Japanese. . . . Yes, my land rule by Queen. In my land we have custom always must give lady birthday gift. Even Queen.” From the pocket in his sleeve he took out the pink camellia blossom that he had cut off a tree in the garden. He laid it in front of her, fearful he was overreaching himself. “Please excuse me if not good manners to give.”

She looked at the flower. Five hundred people waited breathlessly to see how she would respond to the daring and the gallantry of the barbarian—and the trap he had, perhaps, unwittingly placed her in.

“I am not a Queen, Anjin-san,” she said slowly. “Only the mother of the Heir and widow of the Lord Taikō. I cannot accept your gift as a Queen for I am not a Queen, could never be a Queen, do not pretend to be a Queen, and do not wish to be a Queen.” Then she smiled at the room and said to everyone, “But as a lady on her birthday, perhaps I may have your permission to accept the Anjin-san’s gift?”

The room burst into applause. Blackthorne bowed and thanked her, having understood only that the gift was accepted. When the crowd was silent again, Lady Ochiba called out, “Mariko-san, your pupil does you credit, neh?”

Mariko was coming through the guests, a youth beside her. Near them he recognized Kiritsubo and the Lady Sazuko. He saw the youth smile at a young girl then, self-consciously, catch up with Mariko. “Good evening, Lady Toda,” Blackthorne said, then added dangerously in Latin, intoxicated by his success, “The evening is more beautiful because of thy presence.”