Shogun

"It's not possible today. But you already know so much and in such a short time, neh? Mariko-sama was a great teacher. You are a worthy samurai. And you have a quality that's rare here: unpredict ability. The Taiko had it, Toranaga-sama has it too. You see, usually we're a very predictable people."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Then predict a way I can escape the trap I'm in."

"So sorry, there isn't one, Anjin-san," Michael said.

"I don't believe that. How did you know my ship is at Yokohama?"

"That's common knowledge."

"Is it?"

"Almost everything about you - and your defense of Lord Toranaga, and the Lady Maria, Lady Toda - is well known. And honored."

"I don't believe that either." Blackthorne picked up another flat stone and sent it skimming over the waves. They went on, Blackthorne humming a sea shanty, liking Michael very much. Soon their way was blocked by a breakwater. They skirted it and came up onto the road once more. The Jesuit warehouse and Mission were tall and brooding now under the reddening sky. He saw the orange-robed Lay Brothers guarding the arched stone gateway and sensed their hostility. But it did not touch him. His head began to ache again.

As he had expected, Michael headed for the Mission gates. He readied himself, resolved that they would have to beat him into unconsciousness before he went inside and they forced him to give up his weapons.

"You're just guiding me to my galley, eh?"

"Yes, Anjin-san." To his astonishment Michael motioned him to stop outside the gateway. "Nothing's changed. I was told to inform the Father-Visitor as we passed. So sorry, but you'll have to wait a moment."

Thrown off guard, Blackthorne watched him enter the gates alone. He had expected that the Mission was to be the end of his journey. First an Inquisition and trial, with torture, then handed over to the Captain-General. He looked at the lorcha a hundred paces away. Ferriera and Rodrigues were on the poop and armed seamen crowded the main deck. Past the ship, the wharf road curled slightly and he could just see his galley. Men were watching from the gunwales and he thought he recognized Yabu and Vinck among them but could not be sure. There seemed to be a few women aboard also but who they were he did not know. Surrounding the galley were Grays. Many Grays.

His eyes returned to Ferriera and Rodrigues. Both were heavily armed. So were the seamen. Gun crews lounged near the two small shore-side cannon but in reality they were manning them. He recognized the great bulk of Pesaro, the bosun, moving down the companionway with a group of men. His eyes followed them, then his blood chilled. A tall stake was driven into the packed earth on the farside wharf. Wood was piled around the base.

"Ah, Captain-Pilot, how are you?"

Dell'Aqua was coming through the gates, dwarfing Michael beside him. Today the Father-Visitor was wearing a Jesuit robe, his great height and luxuriant gray-white beard giving him the ominous regality of a biblical patriarch, every inch an Inquisitor, outwardly benign, Blackthorne thought. He stared up into the brown eyes, finding it strange to look up at any man, and even stranger to see compassion in the eyes. But he knew there would be no pity behind the eyes and he expected none. "Ah, Father-Visitor, how are you?" he replied, the prawns now leaden in his stomach, sickening him.

"Shall we go on?"

"Why not?"

So the Inquisition's to be aboard, Blackthorne thought, desperately afraid, wishing he had pistols in his belt. You'd be the first to die, Eminence.

"You stay here, Michael," dell'Aqua said. Then he glanced toward the Portuguese frigate. His face hardened and he set off.

Blackthorne hesitated. Michael and the surrounding samurai were watching him oddly.

"Sayonara, Anjin-san," Michael said. "Go with God."

Blackthorne nodded briefly and started to walk through the samurai, waiting for them to fall on him to take away his swords. But they let him through unmolested. He stopped and looked back, his heart racing.

For a moment he was tempted to draw his sword and charge. But there was no escape that way. They wouldn't fight him. Many had spears so they would catch him and disarm him, and bind him and hand him on. I won't go bound, he promised himself. His only path was forward and there his swords were helpless against guns. He would charge the guns but they would just maim him in the knees and bind him ....

"Captain Blackthorne, come along," dell'Aqua called out.

"Yes, just a moment please." Blackthorne beckoned Michael. "Listen, Brother, down by the beach you said I was a worthy samurai. Did you mean it?"

"Yes, Anjin-san. That and everything."

"Then I beg a favor, as a samurai," he said quietly but urgently.

"What favor?"

"To die as a samurai."

"Your death isn't in my hands. It's in the Hand of God, Anjin-san."

"Yes. But I ask that favor of you." Blackthorne waved at the distant stake. "That's no way. That's filthy."

Perplexed, Michael peered toward the lorcha. Then he saw the stake for the first time. "Blessed Mother of God . . ."