Shōgun

Hiro-matsu shook his head irascibly. To go overland was out of the question. It would take far too long—the way was mountainous and there were few roads—and they would have to go through many territories controlled by allies of Ishido, the enemy. Added to this danger were also the multitudinous bandit groups that infested the passes. This would mean he would have to take all his men. Certainly he could fight his way through the bandits, but he could never force a passage if Ishido or his allies decided to inhibit him. All this would delay him further, and his orders were to deliver the cargo, the barbarian, and Yabu, quickly and safely.

“If we follow the coast, how long would it take us?”

“I don’t know, Sire. Four or five days, perhaps more. I would feel very unsure of myself—I’m not a captain, so sorry.”

Which means, Hiro-matsu thought, that I have to have the cooperation of this barbarian. To prevent him going ashore I’ll have to tie him up. And who knows if he’ll be cooperative tied up?

“How long will we have to stay here?”

“The pilot said overnight.”

“Will the storm be gone by then?”

“It should, Sire, but one never knows.”

Hiro-matsu studied the mountain coast, then the pilot, hesitating.

“May I offer a suggestion, Hiro-matsu-san?” Yabu said.

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said testily.

“As we seem to need the pirate’s cooperation to get us to Osaka, why not let him go ashore but send men with him to protect him, and order them back before dark. As to going overland, I agree it would be too dangerous for you—I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you. Once the storm has blown itself out you’ll be safer with the ship and you’ll get to Osaka much quicker, neh? Surely by sunset tomorrow.”

Reluctantly Hiro-matsu nodded. “Very well.” He beckoned a samurai. “Takatashi-san! You will take six men and go with the Pilot. Bring the Portuguese’s body back if you can find it. But if even one of this barbarian’s eyelashes is damaged, you and your men will commit seppuku instantly.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“And send two men to the nearest village and find out exactly where we are and in whose fief we are.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“With your permission, Hiro-matsu-san, I will lead the party ashore,” Yabu said. “If we arrived in Osaka without the pirate, I’d be so ashamed that I’d feel obliged to kill myself anyway. I’d like the honor of carrying out your orders.”

Hiro-matsu nodded, inwardly surprised that Yabu would put himself in such jeopardy. He went below.

When Blackthorne realized that Yabu was going ashore with him, his pulse quickened. I haven’t forgotten Pieterzoon or my crew or the pit—or the screams or Omi or any part of it. Look to your life, bastard.

CHAPTER NINE

They were quickly on land. Blackthorne intended to lead but Yabu usurped that position and set a strong pace, which he was hard put to keep up with. The other six samurai were watching him carefully. I’ve nowhere to run, you fools, he thought, misunderstanding their concern, as his eyes automatically quartered the bay, looking for shoals or hidden reefs, measuring bearings, his mind docketing the important things for future transcription.

Their way led first along the pebbled shore, then a short climb over sea-smoothed rocks up onto a path that skirted the cliff and crept precariously around the headland southward. The rain had stopped but the gale had not. The closer they came to the exposed tongue of land, the higher the surf—hurled against the rocks below—sprayed into the air. Soon they were soaked.

Although Blackthorne felt chilled, Yabu and the others, who had their light kimonos carelessly tucked into their belts, did not seem to be affected by the wet or the cold. It must be as Rodrigues had said, he thought, his fear returning. Japmen just aren’t built like us. They don’t feel cold or hunger or privations or wounds as we do. They are more like animals, their nerves dulled, compared to us.

Above them the cliff soared two hundred feet. The shore was fifty feet below. Beyond and all around were mountains and not a house or hut in the whole bay area. This was not surprising for there was no room for fields, the shore pebbles quickly becoming foreshore rocks and then granite mountain with trees on the upper slopes.

The path dipped and rose along the cliff face, very unsafe, the surface loose. Blackthorne plodded along, leaning against the wind, and noticed that Yabu’s legs were strong and muscular. Slip, you whore-bastard, he thought. Slip—splatter yourself on the rocks below. Would that make you scream? What would make you scream?