Shōgun

“I agree,” Ferriera said. Then he called out, “Eminence, why not tell him the whole truth?”

Dell’Aqua did not stop. Blackthorne began to follow but he did not turn his back to the ship, still expecting treachery. “Doesn’t make sense. You know I’m going to destroy you. I’ll take your Black Ship.”

Ferriera laughed scornfully. “With what, Ingeles? You have no ship!”

“What do you mean?”

“You have no ship. She’s dead. If she wasn’t, I’d never let you go, whatever his Eminence threatened.”

“It’s not true . . .”

Through the fog in his head Blackthorne heard Ferriera say it again and laugh louder, and add something about an accident and the Hand of God and your ship’s burned to her spine, so you’ll never harm my ship now, though you’re still heretic and enemy, and still a threat to the Faith. Then he saw Rodrigues clearly, pity on his face, and the lips spelled out, Yes, it’s true, Ingeles.

“It’s not true, can’t be true.”

Then the Inquisitor priest was saying from a million leagues away, “I received a message this morning from Father Alvito. It seems an earthquake caused a tidal wave, the wave . . .”

But Blackthorne was not listening. His mind was crying out, Your ship’s dead, you’ve let her down, your ship’s dead, you’ve no ship no ship no ship. . . .

“It’s not true! You’re lying, my ship’s in a safe harbor and guarded by four thousand men. She’s safe!”

Someone said, “But not from God,” and then the Inquisitor was talking again, “The tidal wave heeled your ship. They say that oil lamps on deck were upset and the fire spread. Your ship’s gutted. . . .”

“Lies! What about the deck watch? There’s always a deck watch! It’s impossible,” he shouted, but he knew that somehow the price for his life had been his ship.

“You’re beached, Ingeles,” Ferriera was goading him. “You’re marooned. You’re here forever, you’ll never get passage on one of our ships. You’re beached forever. . . .”

It went on and on and he was drowning. Then his eyes cleared. He heard the cry of the gulls and smelled the stink of the shore and saw Ferriera, he saw his enemy and knew it was all a lie to drive him mad. He knew it absolutely and that the priests were part of the plot. “God take you to hell!” he shouted and rushed at Ferriera, his sword raised high. But only in his dream was it a rush. Hands caught him easily and took his swords away and set him walking between two Grays, through all the others, until he was at the companionway of the galley and they gave him back his swords and let him go.

It was difficult for him to see or to hear, his brain hardly working now in the pain, but he was certain it was all a trick to drive him mad and that it would succeed if he did not make a great effort. Help me, he prayed, someone help me, then Yabu was beside him and Vinck and his vassals and he could not distinguish the languages. They guided him aboard, Kiri there somewhere and Sazuko, a child crying in a maid’s arms, the remnants of the Browns’ garrison crowding the deck, rowers and seamen.

Smell of sweat, fear sweat. Yabu was talking at him. And Vinck. It took a long time to concentrate. “Pilot, why in Christ’s name did they let you go?”

“I . . . they . . .” He could not say the words.

Then somehow he found himself on the quarterdeck and Yabu was ordering the Captain-san to put to sea before Ishido changed his mind about letting them all leave, and before the Grays on the dock changed their minds about permitting the galley to go, telling the captain full speed for Nagasaki . . . Kiri saying, so sorry, Yabu-sama, please first Yedo, we must go to Yedo. . . .

The oars of the shallow draft vessel eased off the wharf, against the tide and against the wind, and went out into the stream, gulls crying in the wake, and Blackthorne pulled himself out of his daze enough to say coherently, “No. So sorry. Go Yokohama. Must Yokohama.”

“First get men at Nagasaki, Anjin-san, understand? Important. First men! Have plan,” Yabu said.

“No. Go Yokohama. My ship . . . my ship danger.”

“What danger?” Yabu demanded.

“Christians say . . . say fire!”

“What!!”

“For the love of Christ, Pilot, what’s amiss?” Vinck cried out.

Blackthorne pointed shakily toward the lorcha. “They told me . . . they told me Erasmus is lost, Johann. Our ship’s lost . . . fired.” Then he burst out, “Oh, God, let it all be a lie!”

Six

CHAPTER SIXTY

He stood in the shallows and looked out at the charred skeleton of his ship aground and heeled over, awash in the small surf, seventy yards seaward, masts gone, decks gone, everything gone, except for the keel and the ribs of her chest that jutted to the sky.

“The monkeys tried to beach her,” Vinck said sullenly.

“No. The tide took her there.”