Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [93]
Lord Jesus, Blackthorne thought, the whole of England hasn’t got more than three million people. And that includes Wales as well.
If there are that many Japanese, how can we deal with them? If there’s twenty million, that’d mean they could easily press an army of more men than we’ve got in our entire population if they wanted. And if they’re all as ferocious as the ones I’ve seen—and why shouldn’t they be—by God’s wounds, they’d be unbeatable. And if they’re already partially Catholic, and if the Jesuits are here in strength, their numbers will increase, and there’s no fanatic like a converted fanatic, so what chance have we and the Dutch got in Asia?
None at all.
“If you think that’s a lot,” Rodrigues was saying, “wait till you go to China. They’re all yellow men there, all with black hair and eyes. Oh, Ingeles, I tell you you’ve so much new to learn. I was in Canton last year, at the silk sales. Canton’s a walled city in south China, on the Pearl River, north of our City of the Name of God at Macao. There’s a million of the heathen dog-eaters within those walls alone. China’s got more people than all the rest of the world put together. Must have. Think of that!” A spasm of pain went through Rodrigues and his good hand held onto his stomach. “Was there any blood seeping out of me? Anywhere?”
“No. I made sure. It’s just your leg and shoulder. You’re not hurt inside, Rodrigues—at least, I don’t think so.”
“How bad is the leg?”
“It was washed by the sea and cleaned by the sea. The break was clean and the skin’s clean, at the moment.”
“Did you pour brandy over it and fire it?”
“No. They wouldn’t let me—they ordered me off. But the doctor seemed to know what he’s doing. Will your own people come aboard quickly?”
“Yes. Soon as we dock. That’s more than likely.” “Good. You were saying? About China and Canton?” “I was saying too much, perhaps. Time enough to talk about them.”
Blackthorne watched the Portuguese’s good hand toy with the sealed package and he wondered again what significance it had. “Your leg will be all right. You’ll know within the week.”
“Yes, Ingeles.”
“I don’t think it’ll rot—there’s no pus—you’re thinking clearly so your brain’s all right. You’ll be fine, Rodrigues.”
“I still owe you a life.” A shiver ran through the Portuguese. “When I was drowning, all I could think of was the crabs climbing in through my eyes. I could feel them churning inside me, Ingeles. That’s the third time I’ve been overboard and each time it’s worse.”
“I’ve been sunk at sea four times. Three times by Spaniards.”
The cabin door opened and the captain bowed and beckoned Blackthorne aloft.
“Hai!” Blackthorne got up. “You owe me nothing, Rodrigues,” he said kindly. “You gave me life and succor when I was desperate, and I thank you for that. We’re even.”
“Perhaps, but listen, Ingeles, here’s some truth for you, in part payment: Never forget Japmen’re six-faced and have three hearts. It’s a saying they have, that a man has a false heart in his mouth for all the world to see, another in his breast to show his very special friends and his family, and the real one, the true one, the secret one, which is never known to anyone except himself alone, hidden only God knows where. They’re treacherous beyond belief, vice-ridden beyond redemption.”
“Why does Toranaga want to see me?”
“I don’t know. By the Blessed Virgin! I don’t know. Come back to see me, if you can.”
“Yes. Good luck, Spaniard!”
“Thy sperm! Even so, go with God.”
Blackthorne smiled back, unguarded, and then he was on deck and his mind whirled from the impact of Osaka, its immensity, the teaming anthills of people, and the enormous castle that dominated the city. From within the castle’s vastness came the soaring beauty of the donjon—the central keep—seven or eight stories high, pointed gables with curved roofs at each level,