“My Master says we’ll soon have that answer.”

“We’re naked, senhora. We’ve no chance against those cannon. If the ship’s hostile—even if it’s simply neutral—we’re sunk.”

“My Master says, yes, but it will be your duty to persuade them to be benevolent.”

“How can I do that? I’m their enemy.”

“My Master says, in war and in peace, a good enemy can be more valuable than a good ally. He says you will know their minds—you will think of a way to persuade them.”

“The only sure way’s by force.”

“Good. I agree, my Master says. Please tell me how you would pirate that ship.”

“What?”

“He said, good, I agree. How would you pirate the ship, how would you conquer it? I require the use of their cannon. So sorry, isn’t that clear, Anjin-san?”

“And again I say I’m going to blow her out of the water,” Ferriera, the Captain-General, declared.

“No,” dell’Aqua replied, watching the galley from the quarterdeck.

“Gunner, is she in range yet?”

“No, Don Ferriera,” the chief gunner replied. “Not yet.”

“Why else is she coming at us if not for hostile reasons, Eminence? Why doesn’t she just escape? The way’s clear.” The frigate was too far from the harbor mouth for anyone aboard to see the encroaching fishing boats crowding in ambush.

“We risk nothing, Eminence, and gain everything,” Ferriera said. “We pretend we didn’t know Toranaga was aboard. We thought the bandits—bandits led by the pirate heretic—were going to attack us. Don’t worry, it will be easy to provoke them once they’re in range.”

“No,” dell’Aqua ordered.

Father Alvito turned back from the gunwale. “The galley’s flying Toranaga’s flag, Captain-General.”

“False colors!” Ferriera added sardonically, “That’s the oldest sea trick in the world. We haven’t seen Toranaga. Perhaps he isn’t aboard.”

“No.”

“God’s death, war would be a catastrophe! It’ll hurt, if not ruin, the Black Ship’s voyage this year. I can’t afford that! I won’t have anything interfere with that!”

“Our finances are in a worse position than yours, Captain-General,” dell’Aqua rapped. “If we don’t trade this year, the Church is bankrupt, is that clear? We’ve had no funds from Goa or Lisbon for three years and the loss of last year’s profit. . . . God give me patience! I know better than you what’s at stake. The answer is no!”

Rodrigues was sitting painfully in his seachair, his leg in a splint resting on a padded stool that was lashed safe near the binnacle. “The Captain-General’s right, Eminence. Why should she come at us, if not to try something? Why not escape, eh? Eminence, we’ve a piss-cutting opportunity here.”

“Yes, and it is a military decision,” Ferriera said.

Alvito turned on him sharply. “No, his Eminence is arbiter in this, Captain-General. We must not hurt Toranaga. We must help him.”

Rodrigues said, “You’ve told me a dozen times that once war starts it’ll go on forever. War’s started, hasn’t it? We’ve seen it start. That’s got to hurt trade. With Toranaga dead the war’s over and all our interests are safe. I say blow the ship to hell.”

“We even get rid of the heretic,” Ferriera added, watching Rodrigues. “You prevent a war for the glory of God, and another heretic goes to torment.”

“It would be unwarranted interference in their politics,” dell’Aqua replied, avoiding the real reason.

“We interfere all the time. The Society of Jesus is famous for it. We’re not simple, thick-headed peasants!”

“I’m not suggesting you are. But while I’m aboard you will not sink that ship.”

“Then kindly go ashore.”

“The sooner the archmurderer is dead, the better, Eminence,” Rodrigues suggested. “Him or Ishido, what’s the difference? They’re both heathen, and you can’t trust either of them. The Captain-General’s right, we’ll never get an opportunity like this again. And what about our Black Ship?” Rodrigues was pilot with a fifteenth part of all the profit. The real pilot of the Black Ship had died of the pox in Macao three months ago and Rodrigues had been taken off his own ship, the Santa Theresa, and given the new post, to his everlasting joy. Pox was the official reason, Rodrigues reminded himself grimly, though many said the other pilot was knifed in the back by a ronin in a whorehouse brawl. By God, this is my great chance. Nothing’s going to interfere with that!

“I will accept full responsibility,” Ferriera was saying. “It’s a military decision. We’re involved in a native war. My ship’s in danger.” He turned again to the chief gunner. “Are they in range yet?”

“Well, Don Ferriera, that depends what you wish.” The chief gunner blew on the end of the taper, which made it glow and spark. “I could take off her bow now, or her stern, or hit her amidships, whichever you prefer. But if you want a man dead, a particular man, then a moment or two would bring them into killing range.”

“I want Toranaga dead. And the heretic.”

“You mean the Ingeles, the pilot?”

“Yes.”

“Someone will have to point the Jappo out. The pilot I’ll recognize, doubtless.”

Rodrigues said, “If the pilot’s got to die to kill Toranaga and stop the war then I’m for it, Captain-General. Otherwise he should be spared.”

“He’s a heretic, an enemy of our country, an abomination, and he’s already caused us more trouble than a nest of vipers.”

“I’ve already pointed out that first the Ingeles is a pilot and last he’s a pilot, one of the best in the world.”

“Pilots should have special privileges? Even heretics?”

“Yes, by God. We should use him like they use us. It’d be a God-cursed waste to kill such experience. Without pilots there’s no piss-cutting Empire and no trade and no nothing. Without me, by God, there’s no Black Ship and no profit and no way home, so my opinion’s God-cursed important.”

There was a cry from the masthead, “Ho on the quarterdeck, the galley’s changing her course!” The galley had been heading straight for them but now she had swung a few points to port, out into the harbor.

Immediately Rodrigues shouted, “Action stations! Starboard watch aloft—all sails ho! Up anchor!” At once men rushed to obey.

“What’s amiss, Rodrigues?”

“I don’t know, Captain-General, but we’re getting out into open sea. That fat-gutted whore’s going to windward.”

“What does that matter? We can sink them at any time,” Ferriera said. “We’ve stores still to bring aboard and the Fathers have to go back to Osaka.”

“Aye. But no hostile’s getting to windward of my ship. That whore doesn’t depend on the wind, she can go against it. She might be coming round to hack at us from our bow where we’ve only one cannon and board us!”

Ferriera laughed contemptuously. “We’ve twenty cannon aboard! They’ve none! You think that filthy heathen pig boat would dare to try to attack us? You’re simple in the head!”

“Yes, Captain-General, that’s why I’ve still got one. The Santa Theresa’s ordered to sea!”

The sails were crackling out of their ropes and the wind took them, the spars grinding. Both watches were on deck at battle stations. The frigate began to make way but her going was slow. “Come on, you bitch,” Rodrigues urged.

“We’re ready, Don Ferriera,” the chief gunner said. “I’ve got her in my sights. I can’t hold her for long. Which is this Toranaga? Point him out!”

There were no flares aboard the galley; the only illumination came from the moonlight. The galley was still astern, a hundred yards off, but turned to port now and headed for the far shore, the oars dipping and falling in unbroken rhythm. “Is that the pilot? The tall man on the quarterdeck?”

“Yes,” Rodrigues said.

“Manuel and Perdito! Take him and the quarterdeck!” The cannon nearest made slight adjustments. “Which is this Toranaga? Quickly! Helmsmen, two points to starboard!”

“Two points to starboard it is, Gunner!”

Conscious of the sanding bottom and the shoals nearby, Rodrigues was watching the shrouds, ready at any second to override the chief gunner, who by custom had the con on a stern cannonade. “Ho, port maindeck cannon!” the gunner shouted. “Once we’ve fired we’ll let her fall off the wind. Drop all gun ports, prepare for a broadside!” The gun crews obeyed, their eyes going to the officers on the quarterdeck. And the priests. “For the love of God, Don Ferriera, which is this Toranaga?”

“Which is he, Father?” Ferriera had never seen him before.

Rodrigues had recognized Toranaga clearly on the foredeck in a ring of samurai, but he did not want to be the one to put the mark on him. Let the priests do that, he thought. Go on, Father, play the Judas. Why should we always do all the pox-foul work, not that I care a chipped doubloon for that heathen son of a whore.

Both priests were silent.

“Quick, which would Toranaga be?” the gunner asked again.

Impatiently Rodrigues pointed him out. “There, on the poop. The short, thickset bastard in the middle of those other heathen bastards.”

“I see him, Senhor Pilot.”

The gun crews made last slight adjustments.

Ferriera took the taper out of the gunner’s mate’s hand.

“Are you trained on the heretic?”

“Yes, Captain-General, are you ready? I’ll drop my hand. That’s the signal!”

“Good.”

“Thou shalt not kill!” It was dell’Aqua.

Ferriera whirled on him. “They’re heathens and heretics!”

“There are Christians among them and even if there weren’t—”

“Pay no attention to him, Gunner!” the Captain-General snarled. “We fire when you’re ready!”

Dell’Aqua went forward to the muzzle of the cannon and stood in the way. His bulk dominated the quarterdeck and the armed sailors that lay in ambush. His hand was on the crucifix. “I say, Thou shalt not kill!”

“We kill all the time, Father,” Ferriera said.

“I know, and I’m ashamed of it and I beg God’s forgiveness for it.” Dell’Aqua had never before been on the quarterdeck of a fighting ship with primed guns, and muskets, and fingers on triggers, readying for death. “While I’m here there’ll be no killing and I’ll not condone killing from ambush!”

“And if they attack us? Try to take the ship?”

“I will beg God to assist us against them!”

“What’s the difference, now or later?”

Dell’Aqua did not answer. Thou shalt not kill, he thought, and Toranaga has promised everything, Ishido nothing.

“What’s it to be, Captain-General? Now’s the time!” the master gunner cried. “Now!”

Ferriera bitterly turned his back on the priests, threw down the taper and went to the rail. “Get ready to repel an attack,” he shouted. “If she comes within fifty yards uninvited, you’re all ordered to blow her to hell whatever the priests say!”

Rodrigues was equally enraged but he knew that he was as helpless as the Captain-General against the priest. Thou shalt not kill? By the blessed Lord Jesus, what about you? he wanted to shout. What about the auto da fé? What about the Inquisition? What about you priests who pronounce the sentence “guilty” or “witch” or “satanist” or “heretic”? Remember the two thousand witches burned in Portugal alone, the year I sailed for Asia? What about almost every village and town in Portugal and Spain, and the dominions visited and investigated by the Scourges of God, as the cowled Inquisitors proudly called themselves, the smell of burning flesh in their wake? Oh, Lord Jesus Christ, protect us!

He pushed his fear and loathing away and concentrated on the galley. He could just see Blackthorne and he thought, ah Ingeles, it’s good to see you, standing there holding the con, so tall and cocky. I was afraid you’d gone to the execution ground. I’m glad you escaped, but even so it’s lucky you don’t have a single little cannon aboard, for then I’d blow you out of the water, and to hell with what the priests would say.

Oh, Madonna, protect me from a bad priest.

“Ahoy, Santa Theresa!”

“Ahoy, Ingeles!”

“Is that you, Rodrigues?”

“Aye!”

“Thy leg?”

“Thy mother!”

Rodrigues was greatly pleased by the bantering laugh that came across the sea that separated them.

For half an hour the two ships had maneuvered for position, chasing, tacking, and falling away, the galley trying to get windward and bottle the frigate on a lee shore, the frigate to gain sea room to sail out of harbor if she desired. But neither had been able to gain an advantage, and it was during this chase that those aboard the frigate had seen the fishing boats crowding the mouth of the harbor for the first time and realized their significance.

“That’s why he’s coming at us! For protection!”

“Even more reason for us to sink him now he’s trapped. Ishido will thank us forever,” Ferriera had said.

Dell’Aqua had remained obdurate. “Toranaga’s much too important. I insist first we must talk to Toranaga. You can always sink him. He doesn’t have cannon. Even I know that only cannon can fight cannon.”

So Rodrigues had allowed a stalemate to develop to give them breathing time. Both ships were in the center of the harbor, safe from fishing ships and safe from each other, the frigate trembling into the wind, ready to fall off instantly, and the galley, oars shipped, drifting broadside to just within calling distance. It was only when Rodrigues had seen the galley ship all oars and turn broadside to his guns that he had turned into the wind to allow her to approach within shouting range and had prepared for the next series of moves. Thank God, the blessed Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, we’ve cannon and that bastard has none, Rodrigues thought again. The Ingeles is too smart.

But it’s good to be opposed by a professional, he told himself. Much safer. Then no one makes a foolhardy mistake and no one gets hurt unnecessarily.

“Permission to come aboard?”

“Who, Ingeles?”

“Lord Toranaga, his interpreter, and guards.”

Ferriera said quietly, “No guards.”

Alvito said, “He must bring some. It’s a matter of face.”

“The pox on face. No guards.”

“I don’t want samurai aboard,” Rodrigues agreed.

“Would you agree to five?” Alvito asked. “Just his personal guards? You understand the problem, Rodrigues.”

Rodrigues thought a moment, then nodded. “Five are all right, Captain-General. We’ll detail five men as your ‘personal bodyguards’ with a brace of pistols apiece. Father, you fix the details now. Better the Father to arrange the details, Captain-General, he knows how. Go on, Father, but tell us what’s being said.”

Alvito went to the gunwale and shouted, “You gain nothing by your lies! Prepare your souls for hell—you and your bandits. You’ve ten minutes, then the Captain-General’s going to blow you to eternal torment!”

“We’re flying Lord Toranaga’s flag, by God!”

“False colors, pirate!”

Ferriera took a step forward. “What are you playing at, Father?”

“Please be patient, Captain-General,” Alvito said. “This is only a matter of form. Otherwise Toranaga has to be permanently offended that we’ve insulted his flag—which we have. That’s Toranaga—that’s no simple daimyo! Perhaps you’d better remember that he personally has more troops under arms than the King of Spain!”

The wind was sighing in the rigging, the spars clattering nervously. Then flares were lit on the quarterdeck and now they could see Toranaga clearly. His voice came across the waves.

“Tsukku-san! How dare you avoid my galley! There are no pirates here—only in those fishing ships at the harbor mouth. I wish to come alongside instantly!”

Alvito shouted back in Japanese, feigning astonishment, “But Lord Toranaga, so sorry, we had no idea! We thought it was just a trick. The Grays said bandit-ronin had taken the galley by force! We thought bandits, under the English pirate, were sailing under false colors. I will come immediately.”