Shōgun полностью

“No, there’s no need now,” he had said. “That can all be changed now. I’ll see Toranaga tomorrow. Now that I’ve permission to leave, I’ll take you to Osaka. I’ll get a galley, or coastal boat. At Nagasa—”

“No, Anjin-san. So sorry, I must leave as ordered.” No amount of persuasion would touch her.

He had felt Fujiko watching him in the silence, his heart aching with the thought of Mariko leaving. He had looked across at Fujiko. She asked them to excuse her for a moment. She closed the shoji behind her and they were alone and they knew that Fujiko would not return, that they were safe for a little time. Their loving was urgent and violent. Then there were voices and footsteps and barely enough time to become composed before Fujiko joined them through the inner door and Yabu strode in, bringing Toranaga’s orders for an immediate, secret departure. “. . . Yokohama, then Osaka for a brief stop, Anjin-san, on again to Nagasaki, back to Osaka, and home here again! I’ve sent for your crew to report to the ship.”

Excitement had rushed through him at this heaven-sent victory. “Yes, Yabu-san. But Mariko-san—Mariko-san go Osaka also, neh? Better with us—quicker, safer, neh?”

“Not possible, so sorry. Must hurry. Come along! Tide—understand ‘tide,’ Anjin-san?”

“Hai, Yabu-san. But Mariko-san go Osaka—”

“So sorry, she has orders like we have orders. Mariko-san! Explain to him. Tell him to hurry!”

Yabu had been inflexible, and so late at night it was impossible to go to Toranaga to ask him to rescind the order. There had been no time or privacy to talk any more with Mariko or Fujiko, other than to say formal good-bys. But they would meet soon in Osaka. “Very soon, Anjin-san,” Mariko had said. . . .

“Lord God, don’t let me lose her,” Blackthorne said, the sea gulls cawing above the beach, their cries intensifying his loneliness.

“Lose who, Sire?”

Blackthorne came back into reality. He pointed at the distant ship. “We call ships her—we think of ships as female, not male. Wakarimasu ka?”

“Hai.”

Blackthorne could still see the tiny figures of his crew and his insoluble dilemma confronted him once more. You’ve got to have them aboard, he said to himself, and more like them. And the new men’ll not take kindly to samurai either, and they’ll be Catholic as well, most of them. God in heaven, how to control them all? Mariko was right. Near Catholics I’m a dead man.

“Even me, Anjin-san,” she had said last night.

“No, Mariko-chan. Not you.”

“You said we’re your enemy, this afternoon.”

“I said most Catholics are my enemies.”

“They will kill you if they can.”

“Yes. But thou . . . will we truly meet in Osaka?”

“Yes. I love thee. Anjin-san, remember, beware of Yabu-san. . . .”

They were all right about Yabu, Blackthorne thought, whatever he says, whatever he promises. I made a bad mistake calling my men off when he was trapped. That bastard’ll cut my throat as soon as I’ve outlived my usefulness, however much he pretends otherwise. And yet Yabu’s right too: I need him. I’ll never get into Nagasaki and out again without protection. He could surely help to persuade Toranaga. With him leading two thousand more fanatics, we could lay waste all Nagasaki and maybe even Macao. . . .

Madonna! Alone I’m helpless.

Then he remembered what Gyoko had told Mariko about Uraga, about not trusting him. Gyoko was wrong about him, he thought. What else is she wrong about?

Once more in the crowded Osaka sea roads after the long journey by galley, Blackthorne again felt the same crushing weight of the city as when he had first seen it. Great swathes had been laid waste by the tai-fun and some areas were still fire-blackened, but its immensity was almost untouched and still dominated by the castle. Even from this distance, more than a league, he could see the colossal girth of the first great wall, the towering battlements, all dwarfed by the brooding malevolence of the donjon.

“Christ,” Vinck said nervously, standing beside him on the prow, “doesn’t seem possible to be so big. Amsterdam’d be a flyspeck alongside it.”

“Yes. The storm’s hurt the city but not that badly. Nothing could touch the castle.”

The tai-fun had slammed out of the southwest two weeks ago. They had had plenty of warning, with lowering skies and squalls and rain, and had rushed the galley into a safe harbor to wait out the tempest. They had waited five days. Beyond the harbor the ocean had been whipped to froth and the winds were more violent and stronger than anything Blackthorne had ever experienced.

“Christ,” Vinck said again. “Wish we were home. We should’ve been home a year ago.”