Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [481]
“What?”
“This afternoon I saw the hatred in your face. So did he.”
“Never mind,” he had said. “Shigata ga nai, neh?”
“No. So sorry, it was a mistake. Why did you call your men off when they had Yabu-sama surrounded at first? Surely that was a bad mistake too. They would have killed him quickly and your enemy would have been dead without risk to you.”
“That wouldn’t have been right, Mariko-san. So many men against one. Not fair.”
Mariko had explained to Fujiko and Kiku what he had said. “Please excuse me, Anjin-san, but we all believe that is a very dangerous way of thinking and beg you to forsake it. It’s quite wrong and very naïve. Please excuse me for being so blunt. Yabu-san will destroy you.”
“No. Not yet. I’m still too important to him. And to Omi-san.”
“Kiku-san says, please tell the Anjin-san to beware of Yabu—and this Uraga. The Anjin-san may find it difficult to judge ‘importance’ here, neh?”
“Yes, I agree with Kiku-san,” Fujiko had said.
Later Kiku had left to go and entertain Toranaga. Then Mariko broke the peace in the room again. “Tonight I must say sayonara, Anjin-san. I am leaving at dawn.”
“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