The party set off again. Soon Blackthorne recovered his strength and preferred walking again, but he knew he was still weak. I’ve got to get some rest, he thought. I’ve no reserve. I must get a bath and some food. Real food.
Now they were climbing wide steps that joined one street to another and entered a new residential section that skirted a substantial wood with tall trees and paths through it. Blackthorne found it vastly enjoyable to be out of the streets, the well-tended sward soft underfoot, the track wandering through the trees.
When they were deep in the wood, another party of thirty-odd Grays approached from around a curve ahead. As they came alongside, they stopped, and after the usual ceremonial of their captains greeting each other, all their eyes turned on Blackthorne. There was a volley of questions and answers and then, as these men began to reassemble to leave, their leader calmly pulled out his sword and impaled the leader of Blackthorne’s samurai. Simultaneously the new group fell on the rest of Blackthorne’s samurai. The ambush was so sudden and so well planned that all ten Grays were dead almost at the same instant. Not one had even had time to draw his sword.
The kaga-men were on their knees, horrified, their foreheads pressed into the grass. Blackthorne stood beside them. The captain-samurai, a heavyset man with a large paunch, sent sentries to either end of the track. Others were collecting the swords of the dead men. During all of this, the men paid Blackthorne no attention at all, until he began to back away. Immediately there was a hissing command from the captain which clearly meant to stay where he was.
At another command all these new Grays stripped off their uniform kimonos. Underneath they wore a motley collection of rags and ancient kimonos. All pulled on masks that were already tied around their necks. One man collected the gray uniforms and vanished with them into the woods.
They must be bandits, Blackthorne thought. Why else the masks? What do they want with me?
The bandits chattered quietly among themselves, watching him as they cleaned their swords on the clothes of the dead samurai.
“Anjin-san? Hai?” The captain’s eyes above the cloth mask were round and jet and piercing.
“Hai,” Blackthorne replied, his skin crawling.
The man pointed at the ground, clearly telling him not to move. “Wakarimasu ka?”
“Hai.”
They looked him up and down. Then one of their outpost sentries—no longer gray-uniformed but masked, like all of them—came out of the bushes for an instant, a hundred paces away. He waved and vanished again.
Immediately the men surrounded Blackthorne, preparing to leave. The bandit captain put his eyes on the kaga-men, who shivered like dogs of a cruel master and put their heads deeper into the grass.
Then the bandit leader barked an order. The four slowly raised their heads with disbelief. Again the same command and they bowed and groveled and backed away; then as one, they took to their heels and vanished into the undergrowth.
The bandit smiled contemptuously and motioned Blackthorne to begin walking back toward the city.
He went with them, helplessly. There was no running away.
They were almost to the edge of the wood when they stopped. There were noises ahead and another party of thirty samurai rounded the bend. Browns and Grays, the Browns the vanguard, their leader in a palanquin, a few pack horses following. They stopped immediately. Both groups moved into skirmish positions, eyeing each other hostilely, seventy paces between them. The bandit leader walked into the space between, his movements jerky, and shouted angrily at the other samurai, pointing at Blackthorne and then farther back to where the ambush had taken place. He tore out his sword, held it threateningly on high, obviously telling the other party to get out of the way.
All the swords of his men sang out of their scabbards. At his order one of the bandits stationed himself behind Blackthorne, his sword raised and readied, and again the leader harangued the opposition.
Nothing happened for a moment, then Blackthorne saw the man in the palanquin get down and he instantly recognized him. It was Kasigi Yabu. Yabu shouted back at the bandit leader but this man shook his sword furiously, ordering them out of the way. His tirade stopped with finality. Then Yabu gave a curt order, and charged with a screaming battle cry, limping slightly, sword high, his men rushing with him, Grays not far behind.
Blackthorne dropped to escape the sword blow that would have cut him in half, but the blow was ill-timed and the bandit leader turned and fled into the undergrowth, his men following.
The Browns and the Grays were quickly alongside Blackthorne, who scrambled to his feet. Some of the samurai charged after the bandits into the bushes, others ran up the track, and the rest scattered protectively. Yabu stopped at the edge of the brush, shouted orders imperiously, then came back slowly, his limp more pronounced.
“So desu, Anjin-san,” he said, panting from his exertion.
“So desu, Kasigi Yabu-san,” Blackthorne replied, using the same phrase which meant something like “well” or “oh really” or “is that the truth.” He pointed in the direction that the bandits had run away. “Domo.” He bowed politely, equal to equal, and said another blessing for Friar Domingo. “Gomen nasai, nihon go ga hanase-masen”—I’m sorry, I can’t speak Japanese.
“Hai,” Yabu said, not a little impressed, and added something that Blackthorne did not understand.
“Tsuyaku ga imasu ka?” Blackthorne asked. Do you have an interpreter?
“Iyé, Anjin-san. Gomen nasai.”
Blackthorne felt a little easier. Now he could communicate directly. His vocabulary was sparse, but it was a beginning.
Eeeee, I wish I did have an interpreter, Yabu was thinking fervently. By the Lord Buddha!
I’d like to know what happened when you met Toranaga, Anjin-san, what questions he asked and what you answered, what you told him about the village and guns and cargo and ship and galley and about Rodrigu. I’d like to know everything that was said, and how it was said, and where you’ve been and why you’re here. Then I’d have an idea of what was in Toranaga’s mind, the way he’s thinking. Then I could plan what I’m going to tell him today. As it is now, I’m helpless.
Why did Toranaga see you immediately when we arrived, and not me? Why no word or orders from him since we docked until today, other than the obligatory, polite greeting and “I look forward with pleasure to seeing you shortly”? Why has he sent for me today? Why has our meeting been postponed twice? Was it because of something you said? Or Hiro-matsu? Or is it just a normal delay caused by all his other worries?
Oh, yes, Toranaga, you’ve got almost insurmountable problems. Ishido’s influence is spreading like fire. And do you know about Lord Onoshi’s treachery yet? Do you know that Ishido has offered me Ikawa Jikkyu’s head and province if I secretly join him now?
Why did you pick today to send for me? Which good kami put me here to save the Anjin-san’s life, only to taunt me because I can’t talk directly to him, or even through someone else, to find the key to your secret lock? Why did you put him into prison for execution? Why did Ishido want him out of prison? Why did the bandits try to capture him for ransom? Ransom from whom? And why is the Anjin-san still alive? That bandit should have easily cut him in half.
Yabu noticed the deeply etched lines that had not been in Blackthorne’s face the first time he had seen him. He looks starved, thought Yabu. He’s like a wild dog. But not one of the pack, the leader of the pack, neh?