Shōgun

“He didn’t say—just that it was vital to the future of the Black Ship.”

“Madonna, what mischief’re they up to now? What’s vital? Our ship’s as sound as any ship afloat, her bottom’s clean and rigging perfect. Trade’s better than we ever imagined and on time, the monkeys’re behaving themselves, pigarse Harima’s confident, and—” He stopped as the thought exploded in his brain. “The Ingeles! He’s put to sea?”

“I don’t know. But if he has . . .”

Rodrigues had stared out of the great harbor mouth, half expecting to see Erasmus already blockading there, showing the hated flag of England, waiting there like a rabid dog against the day they’d have to put to sea for Macao and home. “Jesu, Mother of God and all saints, let that not happen!”

“What’s our fastest way? Lorcha?”

“The Santa Luz, Captain-General. We can sail within the hour. Listen, the Ingeles can do nothing without men. Don’t forget—”

“Madonna, you listen, he can speak their jibberish now, eh? Why can’t he use monkeys, eh? There are enough Jappo pirates to crew him twenty times over.”

“Yes, but not gunners and not sailors as he’d need ’em—he’s not got time to train Jappos. By next year maybe, but not against us.”

“Why in the name of the Madonna and the saints the priests gave him one of their dictionaries I’ll never know. Meddling bastards! They must’ve been possessed by the Devil! It’s almost as though the Ingeles is protected by the Devil!”

“I tell you he’s just clever!”

“There are many who’ve been here for twenty years and can’t speak a word of Jappo gibberish, but the Ingeles can, eh? I tell you he’s given his soul to Satan, and in return for the black arts he’s protected. How else do you explain it? How many years’ve you been trying to talk their tongue and you even live with one? Leche, he could easily use Jappo pirates.”

“No, Captain-General, he’s got to get men from here and we’re waiting for him and you’ve already put anyone suspect in irons.”

“With twenty thousand cruzados in silver and a promise about the Black Ship, he can buy all the men he needs, including the jailers and the God-cursed jail around them. Cabron! Perhaps he can buy you, too.”

“Watch your tongue!”

“You’re the motherless, milkless Spaniard, Rodrigues! It’s your fault he’s alive, you’re responsible. Twice you let him escape!” The Captain-General had squared up to him in rage. “You should have killed him when he was in your power.”

“Perhaps, but that’s froth on my life’s wake,” Rodrigues had said bitterly. “I went to kill him when I could.”

“Did you?”

“I’ve told you twenty times. Have you no ears! Or is Spanish dung as usual in your ears as well as in your mouth!” His hand had reached for his pistol and the Captain-General had drawn his sword, then the frightened Japanese girl was between them. “Prees, Rod-san, no angers—no quarre’, prees! Christian, prees!”

The blinding rage had fallen off both of them, and Ferriera had said, “I tell you before God, the Ingeles must be Devil-spawned—I almost killed you, and you me, Rodrigues. I see it clearly now. He’s put a spell on all of us—particularly you!”

Now in the sunshine at Osaka, Rodrigues reached for the crucifix he wore around his neck and he prayed a desperate prayer that he be protected from all warlocks and his immortal soul kept safe from Satan.

Isn’t the Captain-General right, isn’t that the only answer? he reasoned again, filled with foreboding. The Ingeles’ life is charmed. Now he’s an intimate of the archfiend Toranaga, now he’s got his ship back and the money back and wako, in spite of everything, and he does speak like one of them and that’s impossible so quickly even with the dictionary, but he did get the dictionary and priceless help. Jesus God and Madonna, take the Evil Eye off me!

“Why’d you give the Ingeles the dictionary, Father?” he had asked Alvito at Mishima. “Surely you should have delayed that?”

“Yes, Rodrigues,” Father Alvito had told him confidently, “and I needn’t have gone out of my way to help him. But I’m convinced there’s a chance of converting him. I’m so sure. Toranaga’s finished now. . . . It’s just one man and a soul. I have to try to save him.”

Priests, Rodrigues thought. Leche on all priests. But not on dell’Aqua and Alvito. Oh, Madonna, I apologize for all my evil thoughts about him and the Father Alvito. Forgive me and bury the Ingeles somehow before I have him in my sights. I do not wish to kill him because of my Holy Oath, even though, before Thee, I know he must die quickly. . . .

The duty helmsman turned the hourglass and rang eight bells. It was high noon.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Mariko was walking up the crowded sunlit avenue toward the gates in the cul-de-sac. Behind her was a body guard of ten Browns. She wore a pale green kimono and white gloves and a wide-brimmed dark green traveling hat tied with a golden net scarf under her chin, and she shaded herself with an iridescent sunshade. The gates swung open and stayed open.