Shōgun

In the small room, the only sound was Blackthorne’s lungs struggling for air. On the battlement Kiri lurched to her feet, her kimono torn and her hands and arms raw with abrasions. She stumbled back and saw Achiko and cried out, then reeled for Mariko and sank to her knees beside her. Another explosion somewhere in the castle rocked the dust a fraction, and there were more screams and distant shouts of “Fire.” Smoke billowed into the room. Sazuko and some of the maids got to their feet. Sazuko was bruised about the face and shoulders and her wrist was broken. She saw Achiko, eyes and mouth open in death terror, and she whimpered.

Numbly, Kiri looked across at her and motioned at Blackthorne. The young girl stumbled toward Kiri and saw Mariko. She began to cry. Then she got control of herself and went back to Blackthorne and tried to help him up. Maids rushed to assist her. He held on to them and fought to his feet, then swayed and fell, coughing and retching, the blood still oozing from his ears. Browns burst into the room. They looked around, aghast.

Kiri stayed on her knees beside Mariko. A samurai lifted her up. Others crowded around. They parted as Yabu came into the room, his face ashen. When he saw Blackthorne was still alive, much of his anxiety left him.

“Get a doctor! Quick!” he ordered and knelt beside Mariko. She was still alive, but fading rapidly. Her face was hardly touched but her body was terribly mutilated. Yabu ripped off his kimono and covered her to the neck.

“Hurry the doctor,” he rasped, then went over to Blackthorne. He helped him sit against the wall.

“Anjin-san! Anjin-san!”

Blackthorne was still in shock, his ears ringing, eyes hardly seeing, his face a mass of bruises and powder burns. Then his eyes cleared and he saw Yabu, the image twisting drunkenly, the smell of gun-smoke choking him and he didn’t know where he was or who he was, only that he was aboard ship in battle and his ship was hurt and needed him. Then he saw Mariko and he remembered.

He lurched up, Yabu helping him, and tottered over to her.

She seemed at peace, sleeping. He knelt heavily and moved the kimono aside. Then he put it back again. Her pulse was almost imperceptible. Then it ceased.

He stayed looking at her, swaying, almost falling, then a doctor was there and the doctor shook his head and said something but Blackthorne could not hear or understand. He only knew that death had come to her, and that he too was dead.

He made the sign of the cross over her and said the sacred Latin words that were necessary to bless her and he prayed for her though no sound came from his mouth. The others watched him. When he had done what he had to do, he fought to his feet again and stood upright. Then his head seemed to burst with red and purple light and he collapsed. Kind hands caught him and helped him to the floor and let him rest.

“Is he dead?” Yabu asked.

“Almost. I don’t know about his ears, Yabu-sama,” the doctor said. “He may be bleeding inside.”

A samurai said nervously, “We’d better hurry, get them out of here. The fire may spread and we’ll be trapped.”

“Yes,” Yabu said. Another samurai called him urgently from the battlements and he went outside.

Old Lady Etsu was lying against the battlement, cradled by her maid, her face gray, eyes rheumy. She peered up at Yabu, focusing with difficulty. “Kasigi Yabu-san?”

“Yes, Lady.”

“Are you senior officer here?”

“Yes, Lady.”

The old woman said to the maid. “Please help me up.”

“But you should wait, the doc—”

“Help me up!”

Samurai on the battlement veranda watched her stand, supported by the maid. “Listen,” she said, her voice hoarse and frail in the silence. “I, Maeda Etsu, wife of Maeda Arinosi, Lord of Nagato, Iwami, and Aki, I attest that Toda Mariko-sama cast away her life to save herself from dishonorable capture by these hideous and shameful men. I attest that . . . that Kiyama Achiko chose to attack the ninja, casting away her life rather than risk the dishonor of being captured . . . that but for the barbarian samurai’s bravery Lady Toda would have been captured and dishonored, and all of us, and we who are alive owe him gratitude, and also our Lords owe him gratitude for protecting us from that shame. . . . I accuse the Lord General Ishido of mounting this dishonorable attack . . . and of betraying the Heir and the Lady Ochiba . . .” The old lady wavered and almost fell, and the maid sobbed and held her more strongly. “And . . . and Lord Ishido has betrayed them and the Council of Regents. I ask you all to bear witness that I can no longer live with this shame. . . .”

“No—no mistress,” the maid wept, “I won’t let you—”

“Go away! Kasigi Yabu-san, please help me. Go away, woman!”

Yabu took Lady Etsu’s weight, which was negligible, and ordered the maid away. She obeyed.