“To conduct a special burial for Toda Mariko-sama?”
“Yes. Ah, Sire, you know so much. We’re all clay on the potter’s wheel you spin.”
“That’s not true. And I don’t like idle flattery. Have you forgotten?”
“No, Sire, please excuse me. It wasn’t meant to be.” Alvito became even more on guard, almost wilting. “You’re opposed to the service, Sire?”
“It doesn’t matter to me. She was a very special person and her example merits honor.”
“Yes, Sire. Thank you. The Father-Visitor will be very pleased. But he thinks it matters quite a lot.”
“Of course. Because she was my vassal and a Christian her example won’t go unnoticed—by other Christians. Or by those considering conversion. Neh?”
“I would say it will not go unnoticed. Why should it? On the contrary she merits great praise for her self-sacrifice.”
“In giving her life that others might live?” Toranaga asked cryptically, not mentioning seppuku or suicide.
“Yes.”
Toranaga smiled to himself, noticing that Tsukku-san had never once mentioned the other girl, Kiyama Achiko, her bravery or death or burial, also with great pomp and ceremony. He hardened his voice. “And you know of no one who ordered or assisted in the sabotage of my ship?”
“No, Sire. Other than by prayer.”
“I hear your church building in Yedo is going well.”
“Yes, Sire. Again thank you.”
“Well, Tsukku-san, I hope the labors of the High Priest of the Christians will bear fruit soon. I need more than hope and I’ve a very long memory. Now, please, I require your services as interpreter.” Instantly he sensed the priest’s antagonism. “You have nothing to fear.”
“Oh, Sire, I’m not afraid of him, please excuse me, I just don’t want to be near him.”
Toranaga got up. “I require you to respect the Anjin-san. His bravery is unquestioned and he saved the Mariko-sama’s life many times. Also he’s understandably almost berserk at the moment—the loss of his ship, neh?”
“Yes, yes, so sorry.”
Toranaga led the way toward the shore, guards with flares lighting their way. “When do I have your High Priest’s report on the gun-running incident?”
“As soon as he gets all the information from Macao.”
“Please ask him to speed his inquiries.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Who were the Christian daimyos concerned?”
“I don’t know, so sorry, or even if any were involved.”
“A pity you don’t know, Tsukku-san. That would save me a lot of time. There are more than a few daimyos who would be interested to know the truth of that.”
Ah, Tsukku-san, Toranaga thought, but you do know and I could press you into a corner now and, while you would twist and thrash around like a cornered snake, at length I’d order you to swear by your Christian God, and then if you did you would have to say: “Kiyama, Onoshi, and probably Harima.” But the time’s not ready. Yet. Nor ready for you to know I believe you Christians had nothing to do with the sabotage. Nor did Kiyama, or Harima, or even Onoshi. In fact, I’m sure. But it still wasn’t an Act of God. It was an Act of Toranaga.
Yes.
But why? you might ask.
Kiyama wisely refused the offer in my letter that Mariko gave him. He had to be given proof of my sincerity. What else could I give but the ship—and the barbarian—that terrified you Christians? I expected to lose both, though I only gave one. Today in Osaka, intermediaries will tell Kiyama and the chief of your priests this is a free gift from me to them, proof of my sincerity: that I am not opposed to the Church, only Ishido. It is proof, neh?
Yes, but can you ever trust Kiyama? you will ask quite rightly.
No. But Kiyama is Japanese first and Christian second. You always forget that. Kiyama will understand my sincerity. The gift of the ship was absolute, like Mariko’s example and the Anjin-san’s bravery.
And how did I sabotage the ship? you might want to know.
What does that matter to you, Tsukku-san? It is enough that I did. And no one the wiser, except me, a few trusted men, and the arsonist. Him? Ishido used ninja, why shouldn’t I? But I hired one man and succeeded. Ishido failed.
“Stupid to fail,” he said aloud.
“Sire?” Alvito asked.
“Stupid to fail to bottle up such an incendiary secret as smuggled muskets,” he said gruffly, “and to incite Christian daimyos into rebellion against their liege lord, the Taikō. Neh?”
“Yes, Sire. If it’s true.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s true, Tsukku-san.” Toranaga let the conversation lapse now that Tsukku-san was clearly agitated and ready to be a perfect interpreter.
They were down by the shore now and Toranaga led, sure-footed in the semidarkness, brushing his weariness aside. As they passed the heads on the shore he saw Tsukku-san cross himself in fear and he thought, how stupid to be so superstitious—and to be afraid of nothing.
The Anjin-san’s vassals were already on their feet, bowing, long before he arrived. The Anjin-san was not. The Anjin-san was still sitting staring bleakly out to sea.
“Anjin-san,” Toranaga called out gently.
“Yes, Sire?” Blackthorne came out of his reverie and got to his feet. “Sorry, you want talk now?”
“Yes. Please. I bring Tsukku-san because I want talk clearly. Understand? Quick and clear?”
“Yes.” Toranaga saw the fixity of the man’s eyes in the light of the flares and his utter exhaustion. He glanced at Tsukku-san. “Does he understand what I said?” He watched the priest talk, and listened to the evil-sounding language. The Anjin-san nodded, his accusatory gaze never faltering.
“Yes, Sire,” the priest said.
“Now interpret for me, please, Tsukku-san, as before. Everything exact: Listen, Anjin-san, I’ve brought Tsukku-san so we can talk directly and quickly without missing the meaning of any word. It’s so important to me that I ask your patience. I think it’s best this way.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Tsukku-san, first swear before your Christian God nothing he says will ever pass your lips to another. Like a confessional. Neh? As sacred! To me and to him.”
“But Sire, this isn’t—”
“This you will do. Now. Or I will withdraw all my support, forever, from you and your Church.”
“Very well, Sire. I agree. Before God.”
“Good. Thank you. Explain to him your agreement.” Alvito obeyed, then Toranaga settled himself on the sand dunes and waved his fan against the encroaching night bugs. “Now, please tell me, Anjin-san, what happened at Osaka.”
Blackthorne began haltingly, but gradually his mind began to relive it all and soon the words gushed and Father Alvito had difficulty in keeping up. Toranaga listened in silence, never interrupting the flow, just adding cautious encouragement when needed, the perfect listener.
Blackthorne finished at dawn. By then Toranaga knew everything there was to tell—everything the Anjin-san was prepared to tell, he corrected himself. The priest knew it also but Toranaga was sure there was nothing in it the Catholics or Kiyama could use against him or against Mariko or against the Anjin-san, who, by now, hardly noticed the priest.
“You’re sure the Captain-General would have put you to the stake, Anjin-san?” he asked again.
“Oh, yes. If it hadn’t been for the Jesuit. I’m a heretic in his eyes—fire’s supposed to ‘cleanse’ your soul somehow.”
“Why did the Father-Visitor save you?”
“I don’t know. It was something to do with Mariko-sama. Without my ship I can’t touch them. Oh, they would have thought of that themselves but perhaps she gave them a clue how to do it.”
“What clue? What would she know about burning ships?”
“I don’t know. Ninja got into the castle. Perhaps ninja got through the men here. My ship was sabotaged. She saw the Father-Visitor at the castle the day she died. I think she told him ho
w to burn Erasmus—in return for my life. But I have no life without my ship, Sire. None.”
“You’re wrong, Anjin-san. Thank you, Tsukku-san,” Toranaga said in dismissal. “Yes, I appreciate your labor. Please get some rest now.”
“Yes, Sire. Thank you,”Alvito hesitated. “I apologize for the Captain-General. Men are born in sin, most stay in sin though they’re Christians.”
“Christians are born in sin, we’re not. We’re a civilized people who understand what sin really is, not illiterate peasants who know no better. Even so, Tsukku-san, if I’d been your Captain-General I would not have let the Anjin-san go while I had him in my grasp. It was a military decision, a good one. I think he’ll live to regret he didn’t insist—and so will your Father-Visitor.”
“Do you want me to translate that, Sire?”
“That was for your ears. Thank you for your help.” Toranaga returned the priest’s salutation and sent men to accompany him back to his house, then turned to Blackthorne. “Anjin-san. First swim.”
“Sire?”
“Swim!” Toranaga stripped and went into the water in the growing light. Blackthorne and the guards followed. Toranaga swam strongly out to sea, then turned and circled the wreck. Blackthorne came after him, refreshed by the chill. Soon Toranaga returned ashore. Servants had towels ready now, fresh kimonos and cha, saké and food.
“Eat, Anjin-san.”
“So sorry, not hungry.”
“Eat!”
Blackthorne took a few mouthfuls, then retched. “So sorry.”
“Stupid. And weak. Weak like a Garlic Eater. Not like hatamoto. Neh?”
“Sire?”
Toranaga repeated it. Brutally. Then he pointed at the wreck, knowing that now he had Blackthorne’s full attention. “That’s nothing. Shigata ga nai. Unimportant. Listen: Anjin-san is hatamoto, neh? Not Garlic Eater. Understand?”
“Yes, so sorry.”
Toranaga beckoned his bodyguard, who handed him the sealed scroll. “Listen, Anjin-san, before Mariko-sama left Yedo, she gave me this. Mariko-sama say if you live after Osaka—if you live, understand—she ask me to give this to you.”
Blackthorne took the proffered scroll and, after a moment, broke the seal.
“What message say, Anjin-san?” Toranaga asked.
Mariko had written in Latin: “Thou. I love thee. If this is read by thee then I am dead in Osaka and perhaps, because of me, thy ship is dead too. I may sacrifice this most prized part of thy life because of my Faith, to safeguard my Church, but more to save thy life which is more precious to me than everything—even the interest of my Lord Toranaga. It may come to a choice, my love: thee or thy ship. So sorry, but I choose life for thee. This ship is doomed anyway—with or without thee. I will concede thy ship to thine enemy so that thou may live. This ship is nothing. Build another. This thou canst do—were you not taught to be a builder of ships as well as a navigator of ships? I believe Lord Toranaga will give thee all the craftsmen, carpenters, and metal craftsmen necessary—he needs you and your ships—and from my personal estate I have bequeathed thee all the money necessary. Build another ship and build another life, my love. Take next year’s Black Ship, and live forever. Listen, my dear one, my Christian soul prays to see thee again in a Christian heaven—my Japanese hara prays that in the next life I will be whatever is necessary to bring thee joy and to be with thee wherever thou art. Forgive me—but thy life is all important. I love thee.”
“What message say, Anjin-san?”
“So sorry, Sire. Mariko-sama say this ship not necessary. Say build new ship. Say—”
“Ah! Possible? Possible, Anjin-san?”
Blackthorne saw the daimyos flashing interest. “Yes. If get…” He could not remember the word for carpenter.
“If Toranaga-sama give men, ship-making men, neh? Yes. I can.” In his mind the new ship began to take shape. Smaller, much smaller than Erasmus. About ninety to a hundred tons would be all he could manage, for he had never overseen or designed a complete ship by himself before, though Alban Caradoc had certainly trained him as a shipwright as well as pilot. God bless you, Alban, he exulted. Yes, ninety tons to start with. Drake’s Golden Hind was thereabouts and remember what she endured! I can get twenty cannon aboard and that would be enough to … “Christ Jesus, the cannon!”
He whirled and peered at the wreck, then saw Toranaga and all of them staring at him and realized he’d been talking English to them. “Ah, so sorry, Sire. Think too quick. Big guns—there, in sea, neh? Must get quick!”
Toranaga spoke to his men, then faced Blackthorne again. “Samurai say everything from ship at camp. Some things fished from sea, shallow, here at low tide, neh? Now in camp. Why?”
Blackthorne felt light-headed. “Can make ship. If have big guns can fight enemy. Can Toranaga-sama get gunpowder?”
“Yes. How many carpenters? How much need?”
“Forty carpenters, blacksmiths, oak for timbers, do you have oak here? Then I’ll need iron, steel, I’ll set up a forge and I’ll need a master …” Blackthorne realized he was talking in English again. “Sorry. I write on paper. Carefully. And I think carefully. Please, you give men to help?”
“All men, all money. At once. I need ship. At once! How fast can you build it?”
“Six months from the day we lay keel.”
“Oh, not faster?”
“No, so sorry.”
“Later we talk some more, Anjin-san. What else Mariko-sama say?”
“Little more, Sire. Say give money to help ship, her money. Say also sorry if … if she help my enemy destroy ship.”
“What enemy? What way destroy ship?”
“Not say who—or how, Sire. Nothing clear. Just sorry if. Mariko-sama say sayonara. Hope seppuku serves Lord Toranaga.”
“Ah yes, serves greatly, neh?”
“Yes.”
Toranaga smiled at him. “Glad all good now, Anjin-san. Eeeeee, Mariko-sama was right. Don’t worry about that!” Toranaga pointed at the hulk. “Build new ship at once. A fighting ship, neh? You understand?”
“Understand very much.”
“This new ship … could this new ship fight the Black Ship?”
“Yes.”
“Ah! Next year’s Black Ship?”
“Possible.”
“What about crew?”
“Please?”
“Seamen—gunners?”
“Ah! By next year can train my vassals as gunners. Not seamen.”
“You can have the pick of all the seamen in the Kwanto.”
“Then next year possible.” Blackthorne grinned. “Is next year possible? War? What about war?”
Toranaga shrugged. “War or no war—still try, neh? That’s your prey—understand ‘prey’? And our secret. Between you and me only, neh? The Black Ship.”
“Priests will soon break secret.”
“Perhaps. But this time no tidal wave or tai-fun, my friend. You will watch and I will watch.”
“Yes.”
“First Black Ship, then go home. Bring me back a navy. Understand?”
“Oh yes.”
“If I lose—karma. If not, then everything, Anjin-san. Everything as you said. Everything—Black Ship, ambassador, treaty, ships! Understand?”
“Yes. Oh yes! Thank you.”
“Thank Mariko-sama. Without her …” Toranaga saluted him warmly, for the first time as an equal; and went away with his guards. Blackthorne’s vassals bowed, completely impressed with the honor done to their master.
Blackthorne watched Toranaga leave, exulting, then he saw the food. The servants were beginning to pack up the remains. “Wait. Now food, please.”
He ate carefully, slowly and with good manners, his own men quarreling for the privilege of serving him, his mind roving over all the vast possibilities that Toranaga had opened up for him. You’ve won, he told himself, wanting to dance a hornpipe with glee. But he did not. He reread her letter once more. And blessed her again.
“Follow me,” h
e ordered, and led the way toward the camp, his brain already designing the ship and her gunports. Jesus God in heaven, help Toranaga to keep Ishido out of the Kwanto and Izu and please bless Mariko, wherever she is, and let the cannon not be rusted up too much. Mariko was right: Erasmus was doomed, with or without me. She’s given me back my life. I can build another life and another ship. Ninety tons! My ship’ll be a sharp-nosed, floating battle platform, as sleek as a greyhound, better than the Erasmus class, her bowsprit jutting arrogantly and a lovely figurehead just below, and her face’ll look just like her, with her lovely slanting eyes and high cheekbones. My ship’ll … Jesus God there’s a ton of stuff I can salvage from the wreck! I can use part of the keel, some of the ribs—and there’ll be a thousand nails around, and the rest of the keel’ll make bindings and braces and everything I need … if I’ve the time.
Yes. My ship’ll be like her, he promised himself. She’ll be trim and miniature and perfect like a Yoshitomo blade, and that’s the best in the world, and just as dangerous. Next year she’ll take a prize twenty times her own weight, like Mariko did at Osaka, and she’ll rip the enemy out of Asia. And then, the following year or the one after, I’ll sail her up the Thames to London, her pockets full of gold and the seven seas in her wake. “The Lady will be her name,” he said aloud.
CHAPTER 61
Two dawns later Toranaga was checking the girths of his saddle. Deftly he kneed the horse in the belly, her stomach muscles relaxed, and he tightened the strap another two notches. Rotten animal, he thought, despising horses for their constant trickeries and treacheries and ill-tempered dangerousness. This is me, Yoshi Toranaga-noh-Chikitada-noh-Minowara, not some addle-brained child. He waited a moment and kneed the horse hard again. The horse grunted and rattled her bridle and he tightened the straps completely.
“Good, Sire! Very good,” the Hunt Master said with admiration. He was a gnarled old man as strong and weathered as a brine-pickled vat. “Many would’ve been satisfied the first time.”
“Then the rider’s saddle would’ve slipped and the fool would have been thrown and his back maybe broken by noon. Neh?”
The samurai laughed. “Yes, and deserving it, Sire!”
Shōgun Page 134
