Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [62]
Blackthorne saw that his clothes had been cleaned again and he blessed whoever had done it. He had crawled out of his clothes in the bath house as though they had been plague-infested. Three times he had made them scour his back. With the roughest sponge and with pumice. But he could still feel the piss-burn.
He took his eyes off Mura and looked at Omi. He derived a twisted pleasure from the knowledge that his enemy was alive and nearby.
He bowed as he had seen equals bow and he held the bow. “Konnichi wa, Omi-san,” he said. There’s no shame in speaking their language, no shame in saying “good day” or in bowing first as is their custom.
Omi bowed back.
Blackthorne noted that it was not quite equal, but it was enough for the moment.
“Konnichi wa, Anjin,” Omi said.
The voice was polite, but not enough.
“Anjin-san!” Blackthorne looked directly at him.
Their wills locked and Omi was called as a man is called at cards or at dice. Do you have manners?
“Konnichi wa, Anjin-san,” Omi said at length, with a brief smile.
Blackthorne dressed quickly.
He wore loose trousers and a codpiece, socks and shirt and coat, his long hair tied into a neat queue and his beard trimmed with scissors the barber had loaned to him.
“Hai, Omi-san?” Blackthorne asked when he was dressed, feeling better but very guarded, wishing he had more words to use.
“Please, hand,” Mura said.
Blackthorne did not understand and said so with signs. Mura held out his own hands and parodied tying them together. “Hand, please.”
“No.” Blackthorne said it directly to Omi and shook his head. “That’s not necessary,” he said in English, “not necessary at all. I’ve given my word.” He kept his voice gentle and reasonable, then added harshly, copying Omi, “Wakarimasu ka. Omi-san?” Do you understand?
Omi laughed. Then he said, “Hai, Anjin-san. Wakarimasu.” He turned and left.
Mura and the others stared after him, astounded. Blackthorne followed Omi into the sun. His boots had been cleaned. Before he could slip them on, the maid “Onna” was there on her knees and she helped him.
“Thank you, Haku-san,” he said, remembering her real name. What’s the word for “thank you”? he wondered.
He walked through the gate, Omi ahead.
I’m after you, you God-cursed bas—Wait a minute! Remember what you promised yourself? And why swear at him, even to yourself? He hasn’t sworn at you. Swearing’s for the weak, or for fools. Isn’t it?
One thing at a time. It is enough that you are after him. You know it clearly and he knows it clearly. Make no mistake, he knows it very clearly.
The four samurai flanked Blackthorne as he walked down the hill, the harbor still hidden from him, Mura discreetly ten paces back, Omi ahead.
Are they going to put me underground again? he wondered. Why did they want to bind my hands? Didn’t Omi say yesterday—Christ Jesus, was that only yesterday?—‘If you behave you can stay out of the pit. If you behave, tomorrow another man will be taken out of the pit. Perhaps. And more, perhaps.’ Isn’t that what he said? Have I behaved? I wonder how Croocq is. The lad was alive when they carried him off to the house where the crew first stayed.
Blackthorne felt better today. The bath and the sleep and the fresh food had begun to repair him. He knew that if he was careful and could rest and sleep and eat, within a month he would be able to run a mile and swim a mile and command a fighting ship and take her around the earth.
Don’t think about that yet! Just guard your strength this day. A month’s not much to hope for, eh?
The walk down the hill and through the village was tiring him. You’re weaker than you thought…. No, you are stronger than you thought, he ordered himself.
The masts of Erasmus jutted over the tiled roofs and his heart quickened. Ahead the street curved with the contour of the hillside, slid down to the square and ended. A curtained palanquin