Shōgun полностью

“Of course, so sorry,” Blackthorne told Yabu wearily, conscious of the daimyo’s growing ill humor. “I quite understand. But those who are bound—what happens if I refuse them?”

“Their heads will be hacked off. Of course. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing. So sorry.”

“Follow me.” Yabu stalked over to the litter.

Blackthorne glanced at Mariko. “I can leave. You heard it!”

“Yes.”

“That means . . . It’s almost like a dream. He said—”

“Anjin-san!”

Obediently Blackthorne hurried over to Yabu. Now the litter served as a dais. A clerk had set up a low table on which were scrolls. A little farther off, samurai guarded a pile of short swords and long swords, spears, shields, axes, bows and arrows, that porters were unloading from pack horses. Yabu motioned Blackthorne to sit beside him, Alvito just in front and Mariko on his other side. The clerk called out names. Each man came forward, bowed with great formality, gave his name and lineage, swore allegiance, signed his scroll, and sealed it with a drop of blood that the clerk ritually pricked from his finger. Each knelt to Blackthorne a final time, then got up and hurried to the armorer. First he was handed a killing sword, then the short one. Each accepted both blades with reverence and examined them meticulously, expressing pride at their quality, and shoved them into his sash with savage glee. Then he was issued other weapons and a war shield. When the men took up their new places, fully armed now, samurai again and no longer ronin, they were stronger and straighter and looked even more fierce.

Last were the thirty bound ronin. Blackthorne insisted on personally cutting the bonds of each. One by one they swore allegiance as had all the others: “On my honor as a samurai, I swear your enemies are my enemies, and total obedience.”

After each man had sworn, he collected his weapons.

Yabu called out, “Uraga-noh-Tadamasa!”

The man stepped forward. Alvito was heartsick. Uraga—Brother Joseph—had been standing unnoticed among the samurai grouped nearby. He was unarmed and wore a simple kimono and bamboo hat. Yabu smirked at Alvito’s discomposure and turned to Blackthorne.

“Anjin-san. This is Uraga-noh-Tadamasa. Samurai, now ronin. You recognize him? Understand ‘recognize’?”

“Yes. Understand. Yes, recognize.”

“Good. Once Christian priest, neh?”

“Yes.”

“Now not. Understand? Now ronin.”

“Understand, Yabu-sama.”

Yabu watched Alvito. Alvito was staring fixedly at the apostate, who stared back with hatred. “Ah, Tsukku-san, you recognize him too?”

“Yes. I recognize him, Sire.”

“Are you ready to translate again—or haven’t you any stomach for it anymore?”

“Please continue, Sire.”

“Good.” Yabu waved a hand at Uraga. “Listen, Anjin-san, Lord Toranaga gives this man to you, if you want him. Once he was a Christian priest—a novice priest. Now he’s not. Now he’s denounced the false foreign god and has reverted to the True Faith of Shinto and—” He stopped as the Father stopped. “Did you say it exactly, Tsukku-san? True Faith of Shinto?”

The priest did not answer. He exhaled, then said it exactly, adding, “That’s what he said, Anjin-san, may God forgive him.” Mariko let that pass without comment, hating Yabu even more, promising herself vengeance on him one day soon.

Yabu watched them, then he continued, “So Uraga-san’s a Christian that was. Now he’s prepared to serve you. He can speak barbarian and the private tongue of the priests and he was one of the four samurai youths sent to your lands. He even met the chief Christian of all the Christians, so they say—but now he hates them all, just like you, neh?” Yabu was watching Alvito, baiting him, his eyes flicking back and forth to Mariko, who was listening as intently. “You hate Christians, Anjin-san, neh?”

“Most Catholics are my enemy, yes,” he answered, completely aware of Mariko, who was staring stonily into the distance. “Spain and Portugal are enemies of my country, yes.”

“Christians are our enemies too. Eh, Tsukku-san?”

“No, Sire. And Christianity gives you the key to immortal life.”

“Does it, Uraga-san?” Yabu said.

Uraga shook his head. His voice was raw. “I no longer think so, Sire. No.”

“Tell the Anjin-san.”

“Senhor Anjin-san,” Uraga said, his accent thick but his Portuguese words correct and easily understandable, “I do not think this Catholicism is the lock—so sorry, is the key to immortality.”

“Yes,” Blackthorne said. “I agree.”

“Good,” Yabu continued. “So Lord Toranaga offers this ronin to you, Anjin-san. He’s renegade but from good samurai family. Uraga swears, if you’ll accept him, he’ll be your secretary, translator, and do anything you want. You’ll have to give him swords. What else, Uraga? Tell him.”