Blackthorne held Uraga in his arms helplessly, knowing there was something he should do but not knowing what, knowing nothing could be done, the frantic sick-sweet-death smell clogging his nostrils, his brain shrieking as always, 'Christ Jesus, thank God it's not my blood, not mine, thank God.' He saw Uraga's eyes begging, the mouth working with no sound but choking, the chest heaving, then he saw his own fingers move of themselves and they made the sign of the cross before the eyes and he felt Uraga's body shuddering, fluttering, the mouth howling soundlessly, reminding him of any one of the impaled fish.
It took Uraga a hideous time to die.
Now Blackthorne was walking in the castle with his honor guard of twenty vassals surrounded by ten times that number of escorting Grays: Proudly he wore a new uniform, Brown kimono with the five Toranaga ciphers and, for the first time, a formal, huge-winged overmantle. His golden wavy hair was tied in a neat queue. The swords that Toranaga had given him jutted from his sash correctly. His feet were encased in new tabi and thonged sandals.
Grays in abundance were at every intersection, covering every battlement, in a vast show of Ishido strength, for every daimyo and general and every samurai officer of importance in Osaka had been invited tonight to the Great Hall that the Taiko had built within the inner ring of fortifications. The sun was down and night arriving quickly.
It's terrible luck to lose Uraga, Blackthorne was thinking, still not knowing if the attack had been against Uraga or himself. I've lost the best source of knowledge I could ever have.
"At noon you go castle, Anjin-san," Yabu had said this morning, when he had returned to the galley. "Grays come for you. You understand?"
"Yes, Yabu-sama."
"Quite safe now. Sorry about attack. Shigata ga nai! Grays take you safe place. Tonight you stay in castle. Toranaga part of castle. Also next day we go Nagasaki."
"We have permission?" he had asked.
Yabu shook his head with exasperation. "Pretend go Mishima to collect Lord Hiro-matsu. Also Lord Sudara and family. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Good. Sleep now, Anjin-san. Don't worry about attack. Now all boats ordered stay away from here. It's kinjiru here now."
"I understand. Please excuse me, what happens tonight? Why me to castle?"
Yabu had smiled his twisted smile and told him he was on show, that Ishido was curious to see him again. "As a guest you'll be safe," and he had left the galley once more.
Blackthorne had gone below, leaving Vinck on watch, but the moment he was deeply asleep Vinck was tugging him awake and he rushed on deck again.
A small Portuguese twenty-cannon frigate was barreling into harbor, the bit between her teeth, heeled over under a full press of canvas.
"Bastard's in a hurry," Vinck said, quaking.
"Got to be Rodrigues. No one else'd come in with all that sail."
"If I was you, Pilot, I'd get us the hell away from here on the tide, or without the tide. Christ Jesus, we're like moths in a grog bottle. Let's get out-"
"We stay! Can't you get it through your head? We stay until we're allowed to leave. We stay until Ishido says we can go even if the Pope and the King of Spain come ashore together with the whole God-cursed Armada!"
Again he had gone below but sleep had avoided him. At noon, Grays arrived. Heavily escorted, he went with them to the castle. They wound through the city passing the execution ground, the five crosses still there, figures still being tied up and taken down, each cross with its two spearsmen, the crowd watching. He had relived that agony and the terror of the ambush, and the feel of his hand on the hilt of his sword, the kimono about him, his own vassals with him, did not lessen his dread.
The Grays had guided him to Toranaga's part of the castle that he had visited the first time, where Kiritsubo and the Lady Sazuko and her child were still ensconced, along with the remainder of Toranaga's samurai. There he had had a bath and found the new clothes that had been laid out for him.
"Is Lady Mariko here?"
"No, Sire, so sorry," the servant had told him.
"Then where can I find her, please? I have urgent message."
"So sorry, Anjin-san, I don't know. Please excuse me."
None of the servants would help him. All said, "So sorry, I don't know."
He had dressed, then referred to his dictionary, remembering key words that he would need and prepared as best he could. Then he went into the garden to watch the rocks growing. But they never grew.
Now he was walking across the innermost moat. Flares were everywhere.
He shook off his anxiety and stepped out onto the wooden bridge. Other guests with Grays were all around heading the same way. He could feel them watching him covertly.
His feet took him under the final portcullis and his Grays led through the maze again up to the huge door. Here they left him. So did his own men. They went to one side with other samurai to await him. He went forward into the flare-lit maw.
It was an immense, high-raftered room with a golden ornamented ceiling. Gold-paneled columns supported the rafters, which were made of rare and polished woods and cherished like the hangings on the walls. Five hundred samurai and their ladies were there, wearing all the colors of the rainbow, their fragrances mingling with incense perfume from the precious woods that smoked on tiny wall braziers. Blackthorne's eyes raced over the crowd to find Mariko, or Yabu, or any friendly face. But he found none. To one side was a line of guests who waited to bow before the raised platform at the far end. The courtier, Prince Ogaki Takamoto, was standing there. Blackthorne recognized Ishido - tall, lean, and autocratic - also beside the platform, and he remembered vividly the blinding power of the man's blow on his face, and then his own fingers knotting around the man's throat.
On the platform, alone, was the Lady Ochiba. She sat comfortably on a cushion. Even from this distance he could see the exquisite richness of her kimono, gold threads on the rarest blue-black silk. "The Most High," Uraga had called her in awe, telling him much about her and her history during their journey.
She was slight, almost girlish in build, with a luminous glow to her fair skin. Her sloe eyes were large under painted, arched brows, her hair set like a winged helmet.
The procession of guests crept forward. Blackthorne was standing to one side in a pool of light, a head taller than those nearby. Politely he stepped aside to get out of the way of some passing guests and saw Ochiba's eyes turn to him. Now Ishido was looking at him too.
They said something to each other and her fan moved. Their eyes returned to him. Uneasily he went toward a wall to become less conspicuous but a Gray barred his way. "Dozo," this samurai said politely, motioning at the line.
"Hai, domo," Blackthorne said and joined it.
Those in front bowed and others that came after him bowed. He returned their bows. Soon all conversation died. Everyone was looking at him.
Embarrassed, the men and women ahead in the line moved out of his way. Now no one was between him and the platform. He stood rigid momentarily. Then, in the utter silence, he walked forward.
In front of the platform he knelt and bowed formally, once to her and once to Ishido as he had seen others do. He got up again, petrified that his swords would fall or that he would slip and be disgraced, but everything went satisfactorily and he began to back away.
"Please wait, Anjin-san," she said.
He waited. Her luminosity seemed to have increased, and her femininity. He felt the extraordinary sensuality that surrounded her, without conscious effort on her part.
"It is said that you speak our language?" Her voice was unaccountably personal.
"Please excuse me, Highness," Blackthorne began, using his timetried stock phrase, stumbling slightly in his nervousness. "So sorry, but I have to use short words and respectfully ask you to use very simple words to me so that I may have the honor of understanding you." He knew that without doubt his life could easily depend on his answers. All attention in the room was on them now. Then he noticed Yabu moving carefully through the throng, coming closer. "May I respectfully congratulate you on your birthday and pray that you live to enjoy a thousand more."
"These are hardly simple words, Anjin-san," Lady Ochiba said, very impressed.
"Please excuse me, Highness. I learn that last night. The right way to say, neh?"
"Who taught you that?"
"Uraga-noh-Tadamasa, my vassal."
She frowned, then glanced at Ishido, who bent forward and spoke, too rapidly for Blackthorne to catch anything other than the word "arrows."