A man was at his feet and he dragged him from the grip of the sea, held him until he was safe, then helped him to his place. He looked back at the quarterdeck to curse Rodrigues for letting the helm get away from him. Rodrigues waved and pointed and shouted, the shout swallowed by a squall. Blackthorne saw their course had changed. Now they were almost into the wind, and he knew the swerve had been planned. Wise, he thought. That’ll give us a respite to get organized, but the bastard could have warned me. I don’t like losing lives unnecessarily.

He waved back and hurled himself into the work of re-sorting the rowers. All rowing had stopped except for the two oars most for’ard, which kept them tidily into the wind. With signs and yelling, Blackthorne got the oars shipped, doubled up the men on the working ones, and went aft again. The men were stoic and though some were very sick they stayed and waited for the next order.

The bay was closer but it still seemed a million leagues away. To the northeast the sky was dark. Rain whipped them and the gusts strengthened. In Erasmus Blackthorne would not have been worried. They could have made harbor easily or could have turned back carelessly onto their real course, heading for their proper landfall. His ship was built and rigged for weather. This galley was not.

“What do you think, Ingeles?”

“You’ll do what you want, whatever I think,” he shouted against the wind. “But she won’t take much water and we’ll go down like a stone, and the next time I go for’ard, tell me you’re putting her into wind. Better still, put her to windward while I’ve my line on and then we’ll both reach port.”

“That was the hand of God, Ingeles. A wave slammed her rump around.”

“That nearly put me overboard.”

“I saw.”

Blackthorne was measuring their drift. “If we stay on this course we’ll never make the bay. We’ll be swept past the headland by a mile or more.”

“I’m going to stay into the wind. Then, when the time’s ripe, we’ll stab for the shore. Can you swim?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I never learned. Too dangerous. Better to drown quickly than slow, eh?” Rodrigues shuddered involuntarily. “Blessed Madonna, protect me from a water grave! This sow-bellied whore of a ship’s going to get to harbor tonight. Has to. My nose says if we turn and run we’ll founder. We’re too heavily laden.”

“Lighten her. Throw the cargo overboard.”

“King Toady’d never agree. He has to arrive with it or he might as well not arrive.”

“Ask him.”

“Madonna, are you deaf? I’ve told you! I know he won’t agree!” Rodrigues went closer to the helmsman and made sure they understood they were to keep heading into the wind without fail.

“Watch them, Ingeles! You have the con.” He untied his lifeline and went down the gangway, sure-footed. The rowers watched him intently as he walked to the captain-san on the forepoop deck to explain with signs and with words the plan he had in mind. Hiro-matsu and Yabu came on deck. The captain-san explained the plan to them. Both men were pale but they remained impassive and neither vomited. They looked shoreward through the rain, shrugged and went below again.

Blackthorne stared at the bay to port. He knew the plan was dangerous. They would have to wait until they were just past the near headland, then they would have to fall off from the wind, turn northwest again and pull for their lives. The sail wouldn’t help them. It would have to be their strength alone. The southern side of the bay was rock-fanged and reefed. If they misjudged the timing they would be driven ashore there and wrecked.

“Ingeles, lay for’ard!”

The Portuguese was beckoning him.

He went forward.

“What about the sail?” Rodrigues shouted.

“No. That’ll hurt more than help.”

“You stay here then. If the captain fails with the beat, or we lose him, you take it up. All right?”

“I’ve never sailed one of these before—I’ve never mastered oars. But I’ll try.”

Rodrigues looked landward. The headland appeared and disappeared in the driving rain. Soon he would have to make the stab. The seas were growing and already whitecaps fled from the crests. The race between the headlands looked evil. This one’s going to be filthy, he thought. Then he spat and decided.

“Go aft, Ingeles. Take the helm. When I signal, go West North West for that point. You see it?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t hesitate and hold that course. Watch me closely. This sign means hard aport, this hard astarboard, this steady as she goes.”

“Very well.”

“By the Virgin, you’ll wait for my orders and you’ll obey my orders?”

“You want me to take the helm or not?”

Rodrigues knew he was trapped. “I have to trust you, Ingeles, and I hate trusting you. Go aft,” he said. He saw Blackthorne read what was behind his eyes and walk away. Then he changed his mind and called after him, “Hey, you arrogant pirate! Go with God!”

Blackthorne turned back gratefully. “And you, Spaniard!”

“Piss on all Spaniards and long live Portugal!”

“Steady as she goes!”

They made harbor but without Rodrigues. He was washed overboard when his lifeline snapped.

The ship had been on the brink of safety when the great wave came out of the north and, though they had taken much water previously and had already lost the Japanese captain, now they were awash and driven backward towards the rock-infested shore.

Blackthorne saw Rodrigues go and he watched him, gasping and struggling in the churning sea. The storm and the tide had taken them far to the south side of the bay and they were almost on the rocks, all aboard knowing that the ship was lost.

As Rodrigues was swept alongside, Blackthorne threw him a wooden life ring. The Portuguese flailed for the life ring but the sea swept it out of his reach. An oar crashed into him and he grabbed for it. The rain slashed down and the last Blackthorne saw of Rodrigues was an arm and the broken oar and, just ahead, the surf raging against the tormented shore. He could have dived overboard and swum to him and survived, perhaps, there was time, perhaps, but his first duty was to his ship and his last duty was to his ship and his ship was in danger.

So he turned his back on Rodrigues.

The wave had taken some rowers with it and others were struggling to fill the empty places. A mate had bravely slipped his safety line. He jumped onto the foredeck, secured himself, and restarted the beat. The chant leader also began again, the rowers tried to get order out of chaos.

“Isogiiiiii!” Blackthorne shouted, remembering the word. He bent his weight on the helm to help get the bow more into wind, then went to the rail and beat time, called out One-Two-One-Two, trying to encourage the crew.

“Come on, you bastards, puuull!”

The galley was on the rocks, at least the rocks were just astern and to port and to starboard. The oars dipped and pulled, but still the ship made no way, the wind and the tide winning, dragging her backward perceptibly.

“Come on, pull, you bastards!” Blackthorne shouted again, his hand beating time.

The rowers took strength from him.

First they held their own with the sea. Then they conquered her.

The ship moved away from the rocks. Blackthorne held the course for the lee shore. Soon they were in calmer waters. There was still gale but it was overhead. There was still tempest but it was out to sea.

“Let go the starboard anchor!”

No one understood the words but all seamen knew what was wanted. They rushed to do his bidding. The anchor splashed over the side. He let the ship fall off slightly to test the firmness of the seabed, the mate and rowers understanding his maneuver.

“Let go the port anchor!”

When his ship was safe, he looked aft.

The cruel shore line could hardly be seen through the rain. He gauged the sea and considered possibilities.

The Portuguese’s rutter is below, he thought, drained. I can con the ship to Osaka. I could con it back to Anjiro. But were you right to disobey him? I didn’t disobey Rodrigues. I was on the quarterdeck. Alone.

‘Steer south,’ Rodrigues had screamed when the wind and the tide carried them perilously near the rocks. ‘Turn and run before the wind!’

‘No!’ he had shouted back, believing their only chance was to try for the harbor and that in the open sea they’d flounder. ‘We can make it!’

‘God curse you, you’ll kill us all!’

But I didn’t kill anyone, Blackthorne thought. Rodrigues, you knew and I knew that it was my responsibility to decide—if there was a time of decision. I was right. The ship’s safe. Nothing else matters.

He beckoned to the mate, who hurried from the foredeck. Both helmsmen had collapsed, their arms and legs almost torn from their sockets. The rowers were like corpses, fallen helplessly over their oars. Others weakly came from below to help. Hiro-matsu and Yabu, both badly shaken, were assisted onto the deck, but once on deck both daimyos stood erect.

“Hai, Anjin-san?” the mate asked. He was a middle-aged man with strong white teeth and a broad, weatherbeaten face. A livid bruise marked his cheek where the sea had battered him against the gunwale.

“You did very well,” Blackthorne said, not caring that his words would not be understood. He knew his tone would be clear and his smile. “Yes, very well. You’re Captain-san now. Wakarimasu? You! Captain-san!”

The man stared at him open-mouthed, then he bowed to hide both his astonishment and his pleasure. “Wakarimasu, Anjin-san. Hai. Arigato gozaimashita.”

“Listen, Captain-san,” Blackthorne said. “Get the men food and drink. Hot food. We’ll stay here tonight.” With signs Blackthorne made him comprehend.

Immediately the new captain turned and shouted with new authority. Instantly seamen ran to obey him. Filled with pride, the new captain looked back at the quarterdeck. I wish I could speak your barbarian language, he thought happily. Then I could thank you, Anjin-san, for saving the ship and with the ship the life of our Lord Hiro-matsu. Your magic gave us all new strength. Without your magic we would have floundered. You may be a pirate but you are a great seaman, and while you are pilot I will obey you with my life. I’m not worthy to be captain, but I will try to deserve your trust. “What do you want me to do next?” he asked.

Blackthorne was looking over the side. The seabed was obscured. He took mental bearings and when he was sure that the anchors had not slipped and the sea was safe, he said, “Launch the skiff. And get a good sculler.”

Again with signs and with words Blackthorne made himself understood.

The skiff was launched and manned instantly.

Blackthorne went to the gunwale and would have scaled down the side but a harsh voice stopped him. He looked around. Hiro-matsu was there, Yabu beside him.

The old man was badly bruised about the neck and shoulders but he still carried the long sword. Yabu was bleeding from his nose, his face bruised, his kimono blotched, and he tried to staunch the flow with a small piece of material. Both men were impassive, seemingly unaware of their hurts or the chill of the wind.

Blackthorne bowed politely. “Hai, Toda-sama?”

Again the harsh words and the old man pointed with his sword at the skiff and shook his head.

“Rodrigu-san there!” Blackthorne pointed to the south shore in answer. “I go look!”

“Iyé!” Hiro-matsu shook his head again, and spoke at length, clearly refusing him permission because of the danger.

“I’m Anjin-san of this whore-bitch ship and if I want to go ashore I’m going ashore.” Blackthorne kept his voice very polite but strong and it was equally obvious what he meant. “I know that skiff won’t live in that sea. Hai! But I’m going ashore there—by that point. You see that point, Toda Hiro-matsu-sama? By that small rock. I’m going to work my way around the headland, there. I’m in no hurry to die and I’ve nowhere to run. I want to get Rodrigu-san’s body.” He cocked a leg over the side. The scabbarded sword moved a fraction. So he froze. But his gaze was level, his face set.

Hiro-matsu was in a dilemma. He could understand the pirate wanting to find Rodrigu-san’s body but it was dangerous to go there, even by foot, and Lord Toranaga had said to bring the barbarian back safely, so he was going to be brought safely. It was equally clear that the man intended to go.

He had seen him during the storm, standing on the pitching deck like an evil sea kami, unafraid, in his element and part of the storm, and he had thought grimly at the time, better to get this man and all barbarians like him on the land where we can deal with them. At sea we’re in their power.

He could see the pirate was impatient. How insulting they are, he told himself. Even so I should thank you. Everyone says you alone are responsible for bringing the ship to harbor, that the Rodrigu anjin lost his nerve and waved us away from land, but you held our course. Yes. If we’d gone out to sea we’d have sunk certainly and then I would have failed my Master. Oh, Buddha, protect me from that!

All his joints were aching and his piles inflamed. He was exhausted by the effort it took to remain stoic in front of his men, Yabu, the crew, even this barbarian. Oh, Buddha, I’m so tired. I wish I could lie in a bath and soak and soak and have one day of rest from pain. Just one day. Stop your stupid womanish thoughts! You’ve been in pain for almost sixty years. What is pain to a man? A privilege! Masking pain is the measure of a man. Thank Buddha you are still alive to protect your Master when you should have been dead a hundred times. I do thank Buddha.

But I hate the sea. I hate the cold. And I hate pain.

“Stay where you are, Anjin-san,” he said, pointing with his scabbard for clarity, bleakly amused by the ice-blue fire in the man’s eyes. When he was sure the man understood he glanced at the mate. “Where are we? Whose fief is this?”

“I don’t know, Sire. I think we’re somewhere in Ise Province. We could send someone ashore to the nearest village.”

“Can you pilot us to Osaka?”

“Providing we stay very close to shore, Sire, and go slowly, with great caution. I don’t know these waters and I could never guarantee your safety. I don’t have enough knowledge and there’s no one aboard, Sire, who has. Except this pilot. If it was left to me I would advise you to go by land. We could get you horses or palanquins.”

Hiro-matsu shook his head irascibly. To go overland was out of the question. It would take far too long—the way was mountainous and there were few roads—and they would have to go through many territories controlled by allies of Ishido, the enemy. Added to this danger were also the multitudinous bandit groups that infested the passes. This would mean he would have to take all his men. Certainly he could fight his way through the bandits, but he could never force a passage if Ishido or his allies decided to inhibit him. All this would delay him further, and his orders were to deliver the cargo, the barbarian, and Yabu, quickly and safely.

“If we follow the coast, how long would it take us?”

“I don’t know, Sire. Four or five days, perhaps more. I would feel very unsure of myself—I’m not a captain, so sorry.”

Which means, Hiro-matsu thought, that I have to have the cooperation of this barbarian. To prevent him going ashore I’ll have to tie him up. And who knows if he’ll be cooperative tied up?

“How long will we have to stay here?”

“The pilot said overnight.”

“Will the storm be gone by then?”

“It should, Sire, but one never knows.”

Hiro-matsu studied the mountain coast, then the pilot, hesitating.

“May I offer a suggestion, Hiro-matsu-san?” Yabu said.

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said testily.

“As we seem to need the pirate’s cooperation to get us to Osaka, why not let him go ashore but send men with him to protect him, and order them back before dark. As to going overland, I agree it would be too dangerous for you—I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you. Once the storm has blown itself out you’ll be safer with the ship and you’ll get to Osaka much quicker, neh? Surely by sunset tomorrow.”

Reluctantly Hiro-matsu nodded. “Very well.” He beckoned a samurai. “Takatashi-san! You will take six men and go with the Pilot. Bring the Portuguese’s body back if you can find it. But if even one of this barbarian’s eyelashes is damaged, you and your men will commit seppuku instantly.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“And send two men to the nearest village and find out exactly where we are and in whose fief we are.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“With your permission, Hiro-matsu-san, I will lead the party ashore,” Yabu said. “If we arrived in Osaka without the pirate, I’d be so ashamed that I’d feel obliged to kill myself anyway. I’d like the honor of carrying out your orders.”

Hiro-matsu nodded, inwardly surprised that Yabu would put himself in such jeopardy. He went below.

When Blackthorne realized that Yabu was going ashore with him, his pulse quickened. I haven’t forgotten Pieterzoon or my crew or the pit—or the screams or Omi or any part of it. Look to your life, bastard.