“Arise, Sir John!”
Yes, knighthood was within easy reach, at long last. And perhaps more. Captains and navigators became admirals, knights, lords, even earls. The only way for an Englishman, a commoner, to safety, the true safety of position within the realm, was through the Queen’s favor, bless her. And the way to her favor was to bring her treasure, to help her pay for the war against stinking Spain, and that bastard the Pope.
Three years’ll give me three trips, Blackthorne gloated. Oh, I know about the monsoon winds and the great storms, but Erasmus’ll be close-hauled and we’ll ship in smaller amounts. Wait a minute—why not do the job properly and forget the small amounts? Why not take this year’s Black Ship? Then you have everything!
How?
Easily—if she has no escort and we catch her unawares. But I’ve not enough men. Wait, there’re men at Nagasaki! Isn’t that where all the Portuguese are? Didn’t Domingo say it was almost like a Portuguese seaport? Rodrigues said the same! Aren’t there always seamen in their ships who’ve been pressed aboard or forced aboard, always some who’re ready to jump ship for quick profit on their own, whoever the captain and whatever the flag? With Erasmus and our silver I could hire a crew. I know I could. I don’t need three years. Two will be enough. Two more years with my ship and a crew, then home. I’ll be rich and famous. And we’ll part company, the sea and I, at long last. Forever.
Toranaga’s the key. How are you going to handle him?
They passed another checkpoint, and turned a corner. Ahead was the last portcullis and last gateway of the castle proper, and beyond it, the final drawbridge and final moat. At the far side was the ultimate strongpoint. A multitude of flares made the night into crimson day.
Then Ishido stepped out of the shadows.
The Browns saw him almost at the same instant. Hostility whipped through them. Buntaro almost leaped past Blackthorne to get nearer the head of the column.
“That bastard’s spoiling for a fight,” Blackthorne said.
“Senhor? I’m sorry, senhor, what did you say?”
“Just—I said your husband seems—Ishido seems to get your husband very angry, very quickly.”
She made no reply.
Yabu halted. Unconcerned he handed the safe conduct to the captain of the gate and wandered over to Ishido. “I didn’t expect to see you again. Your guards are very efficient.”
“Thank you.” Ishido was watching Buntaro and the closed litter behind him.
“Once should be enough to check our pass,” Buntaro said, his weapons rattling ominously. “Twice at the most. What are we—a war party? It’s insulting.”
“No insult is intended, Buntaro-san. Because of the assassin, I ordered tighter security.” Ishido eyed Blackthorne briefly and wondered again if he should let him go or hold him as Onoshi and Kiyama wanted. Then he looked at Buntaro again. Offal, he thought. Your head will be on a spike soon. How could such exquisiteness as Mariko stay married to an ape like you?
The new captain was meticulously checking everyone, ensuring that they matched the list. “Everything’s in order, Yabu-sama,” he said as he returned to the head of the column. “You don’t need the pass anymore. We keep it here.”
“Good.” Yabu turned to Ishido. “We meet soon.”
Ishido took a roll of parchment out of his sleeve. “I wanted to ask Lady Kiritsubo if she’d take this with her to Yedo. For my niece. It’s unlikely I’ll go to Yedo for some time.”
“Certainly.” Yabu put out his hand.
“Don’t trouble yourself, Yabu-san. I’ll ask her.” Ishido walked toward the litter.
The maids obsequiously intercepted him. Asa held out her hand. “May I take the message, Lord. My Mis—”
“No.”
To the surprise of Ishido and everyone nearby, the maids did not move out of the way.
“But my Mis—”
“Move!” Buntaro snarled.
Both maids backed off with abject humility, frightened now.
Ishido bowed to the curtain. “Kiritsubo-san, I wonder if you’d be kind enough to take this message for me to Yedo? To my niece?”
There was a slight hesitation between the sobs and the figure bowed an assent.
“Thank you.” Ishido offered up the slim roll of parchment an inch from the curtains.
The sobs stopped. Blackthorne realized Toranaga was trapped. Politeness demanded that Toranaga take the scroll and his hand would give him away.
Everyone waited for the hand to appear.
“Kiritsubo-san?”
Still no movement. Then Ishido took a quick pace forward, jerked the curtains apart and at the same instant Blackthorne let out a bellow and began dancing up and down like a maniac. Ishido and the others whirled on him dumbfounded.
For an instant Toranaga was in full view behind Ishido. Blackthorne thought that perhaps Toranaga could pass for Kiritsubo at twenty-paces but here at five, impossible, even though the veil covered his face. And in the never-ending second before Toranaga had tugged the curtains closed again, Blackthorne knew that Yabu had recognized him, Mariko certainly, Buntaro probably, and some of the samurai possibly. He lunged forward, grabbed the roll of parchment and thrust it through a crack in the curtains and turned, babbling, “It’s bad luck in my country for a prince to give a message himself like a common bastard . . . bad luck . . .”
It had all happened so unexpectedly and so fast that Ishido’s sword was not out until Blackthorne was bowing and raving in front of him like an insane jack-in-the-box, then his reflexes took over and sent the sword slashing for the throat.
Blackthorne’s desperate eyes found Mariko. “For Christ’s sake, help—bad luck—bad luck!”
She cried out. The blade stopped a hair’s breadth from his neck. Mariko poured out an explanation of what Blackthorne had said. Ishido lowered his sword, listened for a moment, overrode her with a furious harangue, then shouted with increasing vehemence and hit Blackthorne in the face with the back of his hand.
Blackthorne went berserk. He bunched his great fists and hurled himself at Ishido.
If Yabu hadn’t been quick enough to catch Ishido’s sword arm Blackthorne’s head would have rolled in the dust. Buntaro, a split second later, grabbed Blackthorne, who already had his hands around Ishido’s throat. It took four Browns to haul him off Ishido, then Buntaro smashed him hard on the back of the neck, stunning him. Grays leaped to their master’s defense, but Browns surrounded Blackthorne and the litters and for a moment it was a standoff, Mariko and the maids deliberately wailing and crying, helping to create further chaos and diversions.
Yabu began placating Ishido, Mariko tearfully repeated over and over in forced semihysteria that the mad barbarian believed he was only trying to save Ishido, the Great Commander—whom he thought was a prince—from a bad kami. “And it’s the worst insult to touch their faces, just like with us, that’s what sent him momentarily mad. He’s a senseless barbarian but a daimyo in his own land and he was only trying to help you, Lord!”
Ishido ranted and kicked Blackthorne, who was just coming to. Blackthorne heard the tumult with great peace. His eyes cleared. Grays were surrounding them twenty to one, swords drawn, but so far no one was dead and everyone waited in discipline.
Blackthorne saw that all attention was focused on him. But now he knew he had allies.
Ishido spun on him again and came closer, shouting. He felt the grip of the Browns tighten and knew the blow was coming, but this time, instead of trying to fight out of their grasp, which they expected, he started to collapse, then immediately straightened and broke away, laughing insanely, and began a jibbering hornpipe. Friar Domingo had told him that everyone in Japan believed madness was caused only by a kami and thus madmen, like all young children and very old men, were not responsible and had special privileges, sometimes. So he capered in a frenzy, singing in time to Mariko, “Help . . . I need help for God’s sake . . . can’t keep this up much longer . . . help . . .” desperately acting the lunatic, knowing it was the only thing that might save them.