Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [29]
Then he had been helped to bed, strangely weak, half in dream, and the girl was there. She was patient with him, and after sleeping, when he had strength, he took her with care even though it had been so long.
He had not asked her name, and in the morning when Mura, tense and very frightened, had pulled him out of sleep, she was gone.
Blackthorne sighed. Life is marvelous, he thought.
In the cellar, Spillbergen was querulous again, Maetsukker was nursing his head and moaning, not from pain but from fear, the boy Croocq near breaking, and Jan Roper said, “What’s there to smile about, Pilot?”
“Go to hell.”
“With respect, Pilot,” van Nekk said carefully, bringing into the open what was foremost in their minds, “you were most unwise to attack the priest in front of the rotten yellow bastard.”
There was general though carefully expressed agreement.
“If you hadn’t, I don’t think we’d be in this filthy mess.”
Van Nekk did not go near Blackthorne. “All you’ve got to do is put your head in the dust when the Lord Bastard’s around and they’re as meek as lambs.”
He waited for a reply but Blackthorne made none, just turned back to the trapdoor. It was as though nothing had been said. Their unease increased.
Paulus Spillbergen lifted himself on one elbow with difficulty. “What are you talking about, Baccus?”
Van Nekk went over to him and explained about the priest and the cross and what had happened and why they were here, his eyes hurting today worse than ever.
“Yes, that was dangerous, Pilot-Major,” Spillbergen said. “Yes, I’d say quite wrong—pass me some water. Now the Jesuits’ll give us no peace at all.”
“You should have broken his neck, Pilot. Jesuits’ll give us no peace anyway,” Jan Roper said. “They’re filthy lice and we’re here in this stink hole as God’s punishment.”
“That’s nonsense, Roper,” Spillbergen said. “We’re here becau—”
“It is God’s punishment! We should have burned all the churches in Santa Magdellana—not just two. We should have. Cesspits of Satan!”
Spillbergen slapped weakly at a fly. “The Spanish troops were regrouping and we were outnumbered fifteen to one. Give me some water! We’d sacked the town and got the plunder and rubbed their noses in the dust. If we’d stayed we would have been killed. For God’s sake, give me some water, someone. We’d’ve all been killed if we hadn’t retrea—”
“What does it matter if you’re doing the work of God? We failed Him.”
“Perhaps we’re here to do God’s work,” van Nekk said, placatingly, for Roper was a good though zealous man, a clever merchant and his partner’s son. “Perhaps we can show the natives here the error of their Papist ways. Perhaps we could convert them to the True Faith.”
“Quite right,” Spillbergen said. He still felt weak, but his strength was returning. “I think you should have consulted Baccus, Pilot-Major. After all, he’s chief merchant. He’s very good at parleying with savages. Pass the water, I said!”
“There isn’t any, Paulus.” Van Nekk’s gloom increased. “They’ve given us no food or water. We haven’t even got a pot to piss in.”
“Well, ask for one! And some water! God in heaven, I’m thirsty. Ask for water! You!”
“Me?” Vinck asked.
“Yes. You!”
Vinck looked at Blackthorne but Blackthorne just watched the trapdoor obliviously, so Vinck stood under the opening and shouted, “Hey! You up there! Give us God-cursed water! We want food and water!”
There was no answer. He shouted again. No answer. The others gradually took up the shouts. All except Blackthorne. Soon their panic and the nausea of their close confinement crept into their voices and they were howling like wolves.
The trapdoor opened. Omi looked down at them. Beside him was Mura. And the priest.
“Water! And food, by God! Let us out of here!” Soon they were all screaming again.
Omi motioned to Mura, who nodded and left. A moment later Mura returned with another fisherman,