Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [142]
Here it was pitch dark but he groped along unerringly to find the right door in the gathering furor. He slid the door open and jumped for the figure that lay on the futon. But his knife arm was caught by a viselike grip and now he was thrashing in combat on the floor. He fought with cunning, broke free, and slashed again but missed, entangled with the quilt. He hurled it off and threw himself at the figure, knife poised for the death thrust. But the man twisted with unexpected agility and a hardened foot dug into his groin. Pain exploded in him as his victim darted for safety.
Then samurai were crowding the doorway, some with lanterns, and Naga, wearing only a loincloth, his hair tousled, leapt between him and Blackthorne, sword on high.
“Surrender!”
The assassin feinted once, shouted, “Namu Amida Butsu—” In the Name of the Buddha Amida—turned the knife on himself and with both hands thrust it up under the base of his chin. Blood spurted and he slumped to his knees. Naga slashed once, his sword a whirling arc, and the head rolled free.
In the silence Naga picked the head up and ripped off the mask. The face was ordinary, the eyes still fluttering. He held the head, hair dressed like a samurai, by its topknot.
“Does anyone know him?”
No one answered. Naga spat in the face, threw the head angrily to one of his men, tore open the black clothes and lifted the man’s right arm, and found what he was looking for. The small tattoo—the Chinese character for Amida, the special Buddha—was etched in the armpit.
“Who is officer of the watch?”
“I am, Lord.” The man was white with shock.
Naga leaped at him and the others scattered. The officer made no attempt to avoid the ferocious sword blow which took off his head and part of his shoulder and one arm.
“Hayabusa-san, order all samurai from this watch into the courtyard,” Naga said to an officer. “Double guards for the new watch. Get the body out of here. The rest of you are—” He stopped as Kiri came to the doorway, the dagger still in her hand. She looked at the corpse, then at Blackthorne.
“The Anjin-san’s not hurt?” she asked.
Naga glanced at the man who towered over him, breathing with difficulty. He could see no wounds or blood. Just a sleep-tousled man who had almost been killed. White-faced but no outward fear. “Are you hurt, Pilot?”
“I don’t understand.”
Naga went over and pulled the sleeping kimono away to see if the pilot had been wounded.
“Ah, understand now. No. No hurt,” he heard the giant say and he saw him shake his head.
“Good,” he said. “He seems unhurt, Kiritsubo-san.”
He saw the Anjin-san point at the body and say something. “I don’t understand you,” Naga replied. “Anjin-san, you stay here,” and to one of the men he said, “Bring him some food and drink if he wants it.”
“The assassin, he was Amida-tattooed, neh?” Kiri asked.
“Yes, Lady Kiritsubo.”
“Devils—devils.”
“Yes.”
Naga bowed to her then looked at one of the appalled samurai. “You follow me. Bring the head!” He strode off, wondering how he was going to tell his father. Oh, Buddha, thank you for guarding my father.
“He was a ronin,” Toranaga said curtly. “You’ll never trace him, Hiro-matsu-san.”
“Yes. But Ishido’s responsible. He had no honor to do this, neh? None. To use these dung-offal assassins. Please, I beg you, let me call up our legions now. I’ll stop this once and for all time.”
“No.” Toranaga looked back at Naga. “You’re sure the Anjin-san’s not hurt?”
“No, Sire.”
“Hiro-matsu-san. You will demote all guards of this watch for failing in their duty. They are forbidden to commit seppuku. They’re ordered to live with their shame in front of all my men as soldiers of the lowest class. Have the dead guards dragged by their feet through the castle and city to the execution ground. The dogs can feed off them.”
Now he looked at his son, Naga. Earlier that evening, urgent word had arrived from Johji Monastery in Nagoya about Ishido’s threat against Naga. Toranaga had at once ordered his son