What about the barbarians? Now they’re your only profit from the ship. How can you use them? Wait, didn’t Omi give you the answer? You could use their knowledge of the sea and ships to barter with Toranaga for guns. Neh?
Another possibility: become Toranaga’s vassal completely. Give him your plan. Ask him to allow you to lead the Regiment of the Guns—for his glory. But a vassal should never expect his lord to reward his services or even acknowledge them: To serve is duty, duty is samurai, samurai is immortality. That would be the best way, the very best, Yabu thought. Can I truly be his vassal? Or Ishido’s?
No, that’s unthinkable. Ally yes, vassal no.
Good, so the barbarians are an asset after all. Omi’s right again.
He had felt more composed and then, when the time had come and a messenger had brought the information that the ship was loaded, he had gone to Hiro-matsu and discovered that now he had lost even the barbarians.
He was boiling when he reached the jetty.
“Omi-san!”
“Yes, Yabu-sama?”
“Bring the barbarian leader here. I’m taking him to Osaka. As to the others, see that they’re well cared for while I’m away. I want them fit, and well behaved. Use the pit if you have to.”
Ever since the galley had arrived, Omi’s mind had been in a turmoil and he had been filled with anxiety for Yabu’s safety. “Let me come with you, Lord. Perhaps I can help.”
“No, now I want you to look after the barbarians.”
“Please. Perhaps in some small way I can repay your kindness to me.”
“There’s no need,” Yabu said, more kindly than he wanted to. He remembered that he had increased Omi’s salary to three thousand koku and extended his fief because of the bullion and the guns. Which now had vanished. But he had seen the concern that filled the youth and had felt an involuntary warmth. With vassals like this, I will carve an empire, he promised himself. Omi will lead one of the units when I get back my guns. “When war comes—well, I’ll have a very important job for you, Omi-san. Now go and get the barbarian.”
Omi took four guards with him. And Mura to interpret.
Blackthorne was dragged out of sleep. It took him a minute to clear his head. When the fog lifted Omi was staring down at him.
One of the samurai had pulled the quilt off him, another had shaken him awake, the other two carried thin, vicious-looking bamboo canes. Mura had a short coil of rope.
Mura knelt and bowed. “Konnichi wa”—Good day.
“Konnichi wa.” Blackthorne pulled himself onto his knees and, though he was naked, he bowed with equal politeness.
It’s only a politeness, Blackthorne told himself. It’s their custom and they bow for good manners so there’s no shame to it. And nakedness is ignored and is also their custom, and there’s no shame to nakedness either.
“Anjin. Please to dress,” Mura said.
Anjin? Ah, I remember now. The priest said they can’t pronounce my name so they’ve given me the name “Anjin” which means “pilot” and this is not meant as an insult. And I will be called “Anjin-san”—Mr. Pilot—when I merit it.
Don’t look at Omi, he cautioned himself. Not yet. Don’t remember the village square and Omi and Croocq and Pieterzoon. One thing at a time. That’s what you’re going to do. That’s what you have sworn before God to do: One thing at a time. Vengeance will be mine, by the Lord God.
Blackthorne saw that his clothes had been cleaned again and he blessed whoever had done it. He had crawled out of his clothes in the bath house as though they had been plague-infested. Three times he had made them scour his back. With the roughest sponge and with pumice. But he could still feel the piss-burn.
He took his eyes off Mura and looked at Omi. He derived a twisted pleasure from the knowledge that his enemy was alive and nearby.
He bowed as he had seen equals bow and he held the bow. “Konnichi wa, Omi-san,” he said. There’s no shame in speaking their language, no shame in saying “good day” or in bowing first as is their custom.
Omi bowed back.
Blackthorne noted that it was not quite equal, but it was enough for the moment.
“Konnichi wa, Anjin,” Omi said.
The voice was polite, but not enough.
“Anjin-san!” Blackthorne looked directly at him.
Their wills locked and Omi was called as a man is called at cards or at dice. Do you have manners?
“Konnichi wa, Anjin-san,” Omi said at length, with a brief smile.
Blackthorne dressed quickly.
He wore loose trousers and a codpiece, socks and shirt and coat, his long hair tied into a neat queue and his beard trimmed with scissors the barber had loaned to him.
“Hai, Omi-san?” Blackthorne asked when he was dressed, feeling better but very guarded, wishing he had more words to use.
“Please, hand,” Mura said.
Blackthorne did not understand and said so with signs. Mura held out his own hands and parodied tying them together.
“Hand, please.”
“No.” Blackthorne said it directly to Omi and shook his head. “That’s not necessary,” he said in English, “not necessary at all. I’ve given my word.” He kept his voice gentle and reasonable, then added harshly, copying Omi, “Wakarimasu ka, Omi-san?” Do you understand?
Omi laughed. Then he said, “Hai, Anjin-san. Wakarimasu.” He turned and left.
Mura and the others stared after him, astounded. Blackthorne followed Omi into the sun. His boots had been cleaned. Before he could slip them on, the maid “Onna” was there on her knees and she helped him.
“Thank you, Haku-san,” he said, remembering her real name. What’s the word for “thank you”? he wondered.
He walked through the gate, Omi ahead.
I’m after you, you God-cursed bas—Wait a minute! Remember what you promised yourself? And why swear at him, even to yourself? He hasn’t sworn at you. Swearing’s for the weak, or for fools. Isn’t it?
One thing at a time. It is enough that you are after him. You know it clearly and he knows it clearly. Make no mistake, he knows it very clearly.
The four samurai flanked Blackthorne as he walked down the hill, the harbor still hidden from him, Mura discreetly ten paces back, Omi ahead.
Are they going to put me underground again? he wondered. Why did they want to bind my hands? Didn’t Omi say yesterday—Christ Jesus, was that only yesterday?—‘If you behave you can stay out of the pit. If you behave, tomorrow another man will be taken out of the pit. Perhaps. And more, perhaps.’ Isn’t that what he said? Have I behaved? I wonder how Croocq is. The lad was alive when they carried him off to the house where the crew first stayed.
Blackthorne felt better today. The bath and the sleep and the fresh food had begun to repair him. He knew that if he was careful and could rest and sleep and eat, within a month he would be able to run a mile and swim a mile and command a fighting ship and take her around the earth.
Don’t think about that yet! Just guard your strength this day. A month’s not much to hope for, eh?
The walk down the hill and through the village was tiring him. You’re weaker than you thought. . . . No, you are stronger than you thought, he ordered himself.
The masts of Erasmus jutted over the tiled roofs and his heart quickened. Ahead the street curved with the contour of the hillside, slid down to the square and ended. A curtained palanquin stood in the sun. Four bearers in brief loincloths squatted beside it, absently picking their teeth. The moment they saw Omi they were on their knees, bowing mightily.