Panu muttered his translation, and the Ta-yin’s response was curt. ‘What is the true intention of your voyage?’
‘We are merchants seeking new markets.’ The captain was glib with the falsehood.
‘You lie. My men have searched your ship and found no trade goods. Only weapons.’ The Ta-yin gestured towards various items lying at the feet of his guard commander. The bushi picked up a musket and brought it forward. It was a flintlock from the Nicholas.
‘Such guns as these are much sought after,’ explained Eaton. If he hoped to placate the Ta-yin with an offer to sell him arms, he was promptly disappointed.
‘We have no need of guns.’
‘They are of modern design, very efficient.’ Eaton had adopted a huckster’s wheedling tone.
From close to the ground, Panu hissed, ‘The Shimazu manufacture their own guns, copies from long ago. Please don’t insult them.’
The bushi brought forward a canvas bag and a wooden tube. Uneasily Hector recognized the knapsack in which he kept his navigator’s equipment. The Shimazu had ransacked his berth. The bushi opened the tube, slid out the precious chart and unrolled it for the Ta-yin’s inspection.
‘This is forbidden.’
The bushi meticulously ripped the chart to shreds.
Next, he produced from the knapsack Hector’s backstaff. He turned it over in his hand, uncertain which way up to hold it. Hector felt he should intervene.
Stepping forward, he took the backstaff and then walked a couple of paces towards the stony-faced Ta-yin. Immediately the two men-at-arms lowered the points of their pikes to aim at his chest. Hector came to an abrupt halt.
‘This instrument is used for reading the sky,’ he began, then slid the vanes back and forth to demonstrate their action.
The Ta-yin’s angry interruption cut across his explanation.
‘Please step back,’ Panu begged, still crouching on the ground. ‘The great man says you stink.’
Hector was aware how unwashed and filthy he was compared to the immaculate grandee in front of him. Awkwardly he retreated. The bushi retrieved the instrument and, without waiting for instruction from his master, proceeded to smash the backstaff to splinters.
Next from the knapsack came the almanac. Hector felt a twinge of anxiety. He could make himself a replacement back-staff. But without the almanac and its tables, he would be reduced to using the North Star to establish his vessel’s latitude. The Ta-yin had opened the almanac and was idly turning the pages.
‘My Lord,’ he said loudly, ‘that book helps in divination. It foresees the positions of the celestial bodies.’
The Ta-yin lost interest in it and handed the undamaged book back to the bushi, who next offered him a folder of papers. At last the ‘great man’ showed a flicker of interest. He leafed through the folder, pausing from time to time. Then he returned the portfolio with a single grunted comment.
‘What did he say?’ whispered Hector.
‘Simple and untutored,’ Panu translated. The bushi tore up the contents of the folder. Scraps of coloured paper fluttered to the ground. They were the drawings Dan had made on the Encantadas.
Panu swallowed nervously before he relayed the Ta-yin’s next announcement. ‘The Shimazu have forbidden on pain of death the ownership or use of weapons of any sort. Yet this morning a bond servant was robbed, then threatened with a knife. Both are capital crimes.’
Several of Eaton’s men glanced nervously towards Domine, who was standing in the front rank and close enough to hear the interpreter. A few of them edged away, leaving clear space around him. To his credit, the dark-haired sailor stood his ground. Staring straight at the Ta-yin, he casually spat on the sand.
A shiver of apprehension ran through the crowd of onlookers. At a word from his master, the bushi moved forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. Hector expected to see the blade flash out and cut down the insolent sailor. Instead the man-at-arms carefully disengaged the long sword, still in its scabbard, from his sash. Nodding to an attendant, the bushi handed him the weapon. Then he gestured for Domine to step forward.
Cautiously the sailor moved out into the open. The bushi reached to his sash and withdrew his second sword from its sheath. The blade was short, no more than ten inches long, and clearly designed for close-range hand-to-hand fighting.
Domine understood what was expected. A hint of a smile appeared on his swarthy face. He made a tiny click of approval with his tongue and suddenly the stiletto was in his hand. He edged forward to give himself more room, shifted on his feet to find his balance, and narrowed his eyes as he watched the armoured bushi moving towards him. While the man-at-arms was still several yards away, Domine cocked his arm and threw the stiletto. The attack was delivered with perfect timing and total surprise. The dagger flew towards its target, the bushi’s face. An instant later the man-at-arms flicked his blade up. There was a sharp impact of metal on metal, and the stiletto fell harmlessly to the sand.
Domine spun round and ran for his life towards the water’s edge and the cockboat.
The Ta-yin gave a single, sharp grunt of disgust. The bushi didn’t bother to chase his adversary, but slid his short sword back into his sheath. A moment later there was a yelp of pain as Domine ran headlong into the cordon of musketeers. He was tripped and then clubbed as he lay on the ground.
Hector held his breath, waiting for what would come next. The men behind him stirred uneasily, overawed and subdued. Someone was quietly muttering a string of profanities. The bushi faced his attendant and accepted back his long sword, bowing and receiving it with both hands in a formal gesture. Carefully he returned the weapon to his belt.
The Ta-yin stayed very still, his gaze unwavering as he inspected the men clustered before him. Slowly and deliberately he drew the fan from his sash and, without opening it, used it to point at someone in the crowd. Hector turned his head to see who it was. A head taller than all those around him, Jezreel was easy to pick out.
The Ta-yin was making some sort of pronouncement. ‘That man is also to be punished,’ translated Panu. It flashed into Hector’s mind that his friend was being made some sort of example because of his huge size. Then Panu added, ‘He is guilty of wearing a weapon.’
Projecting over Jezreel’s right shoulder was the hilt of the backsword he carried slung on his back.
Understanding that he had been singled out, Jezreel came to the front of the crowd. When Panu repeated what the Ta-yin had said, the former prizefighter spoke calmly to the interpreter. ‘Tell him I have earned my right to wear a sword, just as much as that man there.’ He nodded towards the bushi.
There was a long interval before the Ta-yin replied.
‘The barbarian boasts because he is very big and strong. My captain will teach him that great size is of no consequence in swordsmanship.’
He spoke a few words and an attendant fetched one of the bowl-shaped helmets and handed it to the man-at-arms, who settled it on his head.
Jezreel had already unslung his backsword and was unwrapping the greased rags that kept the blade from rusting. He rolled the rags into a ball, which he tossed to Jacques. The crowd of sailors shuffled back, allowing space for the big man to take a few practice swings with the heavy blade. But Jezreel merely kicked off his shoes and, wearing only a shirt and breeches, stood with sword in hand hanging loosely by his side.
The man-at-arms hesitated and, looking down at the ground, spoke humbly to his master. ‘The bushi does not wish to draw his sword,’ translated Panu. ‘He says it would dishonour his blade to use it against another coward, someone who is preparing to run away.’
The Ta-yin turned his white-powdered face towards the crew of the Nicholas and spoke scornfully. ‘He says,’ continued Panu, ‘that, to encourage the big man to stand and fight, he will allow him and his comrades to leave in their ship if he is the victor.’