Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [578]
Yes.
But why? you might ask.
Kiyama wisely refused the offer in my letter that Mariko gave him. He had to be given proof of my sincerity. What else could I give but the ship—and the barbarian—that terrified you Christians? I expected to lose both, though I only gave one. Today in Osaka, intermediaries will tell Kiyama and the chief of your priests this is a free gift from me to them, proof of my sincerity: that I am not opposed to the Church, only Ishido. It is proof, neh?
Yes, but can you ever trust Kiyama? you will ask quite rightly.
No. But Kiyama is Japanese first and Christian second. You always forget that. Kiyama will understand my sincerity. The gift of the ship was absolute, like Mariko’s example and the Anjin-san’s bravery.
And how did I sabotage the ship? you might want to know.
What does that matter to you, Tsukku-san? It is enough that I did. And no one the wiser, except me, a few trusted men, and the arsonist. Him? Ishido used ninja, why shouldn’t I? But I hired one man and succeeded. Ishido failed.
“Stupid to fail,” he said aloud.
“Sire?” Alvito asked.
“Stupid to fail to bottle up such an incendiary secret as smuggled muskets,” he said gruffly, “and to incite Christian daimyos into rebellion against their liege lord, the Taikō. Neh?”
“Yes, Sire. If it’s true.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s true, Tsukku-san.” Toranaga let the conversation lapse now that Tsukku-san was clearly agitated and ready to be a perfect interpreter.
They were down by the shore now and Toranaga led, sure-footed in the semidarkness, brushing his weariness aside. As they passed the heads on the shore he saw Tsukku-san cross himself in fear and he thought, how stupid to be so superstitious—and to be afraid of nothing.
The Anjin-san’s vassals were already on their feet, bowing, long before he arrived. The Anjin-san was not. The Anjin-san was still sitting staring bleakly out to sea.
“Anjin-san,” Toranaga called out gently.
“Yes, Sire?” Blackthorne came out of his reverie and got to his feet. “Sorry, you want talk now?”
“Yes. Please. I bring Tsukku-san because I want talk clearly. Understand? Quick and clear?”
“Yes.” Toranaga saw the fixity of the man’s eyes in the light of the flares and his utter exhaustion. He glanced at Tsukku-san. “Does he understand what I said?” He watched the priest talk, and listened to the evil-sounding language. The Anjin-san nodded, his accusatory gaze never faltering.
“Yes, Sire,” the priest said.
“Now interpret for me, please, Tsukku-san, as before. Everything exact: Listen, Anjin-san, I’ve brought Tsukku-san so we can talk directly and quickly without missing the meaning of any word. It’s so important to me that I ask your patience. I think it’s best this way.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Tsukku-san, first swear before your Christian God nothing he says will ever pass your lips to another. Like a confessional. Neh? As sacred! To me and to him.”
“But Sire, this isn’t—”
“This you will do. Now. Or I will withdraw all my support, forever, from you and your Church.”
“Very well, Sire. I agree. Before God.”
“Good. Thank you. Explain to him your agreement.” Alvito obeyed, then Toranaga settled himself on the sand dunes and waved his fan against the encroaching night bugs. “Now, please tell me, Anjin-san, what happened at Osaka.”
Blackthorne began haltingly, but gradually his mind began to relive it all and soon the words gushed and Father Alvito had difficulty in keeping up. Toranaga listened in silence, never interrupting the flow, just adding cautious encouragement when needed, the perfect listener.
Blackthorne finished at dawn. By then Toranaga knew everything there was to tell—everything the Anjin-san was prepared to tell, he corrected himself. The priest knew it also but Toranaga was sure