Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [561]
“Shall we go on?”
“Why not?”
So the Inquisition’s to be aboard, Blackthorne thought, desperately afraid, wishing he had pistols in his belt. You’d be the first to die, Eminence.
“You stay here, Michael,” dell’Aqua said. Then he glanced toward the Portuguese frigate. His face hardened and he set off.
Blackthorne hesitated. Michael and the surrounding samurai were watching him oddly.
“Sayonara, Anjin-san,” Michael said. “Go with God.”
Blackthorne nodded briefly and started to walk through the samurai, waiting for them to fall on him to take away his swords. But they let him through unmolested. He stopped and looked back, his heart racing.
For a moment he was tempted to draw his sword and charge. But there was no escape that way. They wouldn’t fight him. Many had spears so they would catch him and disarm him, and bind him and hand him on. I won’t go bound, he promised himself. His only path was forward and there his swords were helpless against guns. He would charge the guns but they would just maim him in the knees and bind him….
“Captain Blackthorne, come along,” dell’Aqua called out.
“Yes, just a moment please.” Blackthorne beckoned Michael. “Listen, Brother, down by the beach you said I was a worthy samurai. Did you mean it?”
“Yes, Anjin-san. That and everything.”
“Then I beg a favor, as a samurai,” he said quietly but urgently.
“What favor?”
“To die as a samurai.”
“Your death isn’t in my hands. It’s in the Hand of God, Anjin-san.”
“Yes. But I ask that favor of you.” Blackthorne waved at the distant stake. “That’s no way. That’s filthy.”
Perplexed, Michael peered toward the lorcha. Then he saw the stake for the first time. “Blessed Mother of God …”
“Captain Blackthorne, please come along,” dell’Aqua called again.
Blackthorne said, more urgently, “Explain to the officer. He’s got enough samurai here to insist, neh? Explain to him. You’ve been to Europe. You know how it is there. It’s not much to ask, neh? Please, I’m samurai. One of them could be my second.”
“I … I will ask.” Michael went back to the officer and began to talk softly and urgently.
Blackthorne turned and centered his attention on the ship. He walked forward. Dell’Aqua waited till he was alongside and set off again.
Ahead, Blackthorne saw Ferriera strut off the poop, down along the main deck, pistols in his belt, rapier at his side. Rodrigues was watching him, right hand on the butt of a long-barreled dueling piece. Pesaro and ten seamen were already on the jetty, leaning on bayoneted muskets. And the long shadow of the stake reached out toward him.
Oh, God, for a brace of pistols and ten jolly Jack Tars and one cannon, he thought, as the gap closed inexorably. Oh, God, let me not be shamed….
“Good evening, Eminence,” Ferriera said, his eyes seeing only Blackthorne. “So, Inge—”
“Good evening, Captain-General.” Dell’Aqua pointed angrily at the stake. “Is this your idea?”
“Yes, Eminence.”
“Go back aboard your ship!”
“This is a military decision.”
“Go aboard your ship!”
“No! Pesaro!” At once the bosun and the bayoneted shore party came on guard and advanced toward Blackthorne. Ferriera slid out the pistol. “So, Ingeles, we meet again.”
“That’s something that pleases me not at all.” Blackthorne’s sword came out of its scabbard. He held it awkwardly with two hands, the broken haft hurting him.
“Tonight you will be pleased in hell,” Ferriera said thickly.
“If you had any courage you’d fight—man to man. But you’re not a man, you’re a coward, a Spanish coward without balls.”
“Disarm him!” Ferriera ordered.
At once the ten men went forward, bayonets leveled. Blackthorne backed away but he was surrounded. Bayonets stabbed for his