Shōgun

“Our ship? Did the señor ask about our ship? Was the señor coming from Manila like us? Or—oh, how foolish of me! I remember now, the señor was outward bound from home and never in Asia before. By the Blessed Body of Christ, it’s so good to talk to a civilized man again, in my blessed mother’s tongue! Que va, it’s been so long. My head aches, aches, señor. Our ship? We were going home at long last. Home from Manila to Acapulco, in the land of Cortes, in Mexico, thence overland to Vera Cruz. And thence another ship and across the Atlantic, and at long, long last, to home. My village is outside Madrid, señor, in the mountains. It is called Santa Veronica. Forty years I’ve been away, señor. In the New World, in Mexico and in the Philippines. Always with our glorious conquistadores, may the Virgin watch over them! I was in Luzon when we destroyed the heathen native king, Lumalon, and conquered Luzon, and so brought the word of God to the Philippines. Many of our Japan converts fought with us even then, señor. Such fighters! That was in 1575. Mother Church is well planted there, my son, and never a filthy Jesuit or Portuguese to be seen. I came to the Japans for almost two years, then had to leave for Manila again when the Jesuits betrayed us.”

The monk stopped and closed his eyes, drifting off. Later he came back again, and, as old people will sometimes do, he continued as though he had never slept. “My ship was the great galleon San Felipe. We carried a cargo of spices, gold and silver, and specie to the value of a million and a half silver pesos. One of the great storms took us and cast us onto the shores of Shikoku. Our ship broke her back on the sand bar—on the third day—by that time we had landed our bullion and most of our cargo. Then word came that everything was confiscated, confiscated by the Taikō himself, that we were pirates and . . .” He stopped at the sudden silence.

The iron door of the cell cage had swung open.

Guards began to call names from the list. Bulldog, the man who had befriended Blackthorne, was one of those called. He walked out and did not look back. One of the men in the circle also was chosen. Akabo. Akabo knelt to the monk, who blessed him and made the sign of the cross over him and quickly gave him the Last Sacrament. The man kissed the cross and walked away.

The door closed again.

“They’re going to execute him?” Blackthorne asked.

“Yes, his Calvary is outside the door. May the Holy Madonna take his soul swiftly and give him his everlasting reward.”

“What did that man do?”

“He broke the law—their law, señor. The Japanese are a simple people. And very severe. They truly have only one punishment—death. By the cross, by strangulation, or by decapitation. For the crime of arson, it is death by burning. They have almost no other punishment—banishment sometimes, cutting the hair from women sometimes. But”—the old man sighed—“but most always it is death.”

“You forgot imprisonment.”

The monk’s nails picked absently at the scabs on his arm. “It’s not one of their punishments, my son. To them, prison is just a temporary place to keep the man until they decide his sentence. Only the guilty come here. For just a little while.”

“That’s nonsense. What about you? You’ve been here a year, almost two years.”

“One day they will come for me, like all the others. This is but a resting place between the hell of earth and the glory of Everlasting Life.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Have no fear, my son. It is the will of God. I am here and can hear the señor’s confession and give him absolution and make him perfect—the glory of Everlasting Life is barely a hundred steps and moments away from that door. Would the señor like me to hear his confession now?”

“No—no, thank you. Not now.” Blackthorne looked at the iron door. “Has anyone ever tried to break out of here?”

“Why should they do that? There is nowhere to run—nowhere to hide. The authorities are very strict. Anyone helping an escaped convict or even a man who commits a crime—” He pointed vaguely at the door of the hut. “Gonzalez—Akabo—the man who has—has left us. He’s a kaga-man. He told me—”

“What’s a kaga-man?”

“Oh, those are the porters, señor, the men that carry the palanquins, or the smaller two-man kaga that’s like a hammock swung on a pole. He told us his partner stole a silken scarf from a customer, poor fellow, and because he himself did not report the theft, his life is forfeit also. The señor may believe me, to try to escape or even to help someone to escape, the man would lose his life and all his family. They are very severe, señor.”

“So everyone goes to execution like sheep then?”

“There is no other choice. It is the will of God.”

Don’t get angry, or panic, Blackthorne warned himself. Be patient. You can think of a way. Not everything the priest says is true. He’s deranged. Who wouldn’t be after so much time?