Shogun - Clavell James (бесплатные полные книги .TXT) 📗

"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."

"Ah, the renegade Christian priest who was killed last night on your ship?"

"Highness?"

"The man - samurai who was killed, neh? Last night on ship. You understand?"

"Ah, so sorry. Yes, him." Blackthorne glanced at Ishido, then back at her. "Please excuse me, Highness, your permission greet the Lord General?"

"Yes, you have that permission."

"Good evening, Lord General," Blackthorne said with studied politeness. "Last time meet, I very terrible mad. So sorry."

Ishido returned the bow perfunctorily. "Yes, you were. And very impolite. I hope you won't get mad tonight or any other night."

"Very mad that night, please excuse me."

"That madness is usual among barbarians, neh?"

Such public rudeness to a guest was very bad. Blackthorne's eyes flashed to Lady Ochiba for an instant and he discerned surprise in her too. So he gambled. "Ah, Lord General, you are most very right. Barbarian always same madness. But, so sorry, now I am samurai - hatamoto - this great, so very great honor to me. I am no longer barbarian." He used his quarterdeck voice which carried without shouting and filled all the corners of the room. "Now I understand samurai manners - and little bushido. And wa. I am no longer barbarian, please excuse. Neh?" He spoke the last word as a challenge, unafraid. He knew that Japanese understood masculinity and pride, and honored them.

Ishido laughed. "So, samurai Anjin-san," he said, jovial now. "Yes, I accept your apology. Rumors about your courage are true. Good, very good. I should apologize also. Terrible that filthy ronin could do such a thing, you understand? Attack in night?"

"Yes, I understand, Sire. Very bad. Four men dead. One of my, three Grays."

"Listen, bad, very bad. Don't worry, Anjin-san. No more." Thoughtfully Ishido glanced at the room. Everyone understood him very clearly. "Now I order guards. Understand? Very careful guards. No more assassin attacks. None. You very carefully guarded now. Quite safe in castle."

"Thank you. So sorry for trouble."

"No trouble. You important, neh? You samurai. You have special samurai place with Lord Toranaga. I don't forget - never fear."

Blackthorne thanked Ishido again and turned to the Lady Ochiba. "Highness, in my land we has Queen - have Queen. Please excuse my bad Japanese .... Yes, my land rule by Queen. In my land we have custom always must give lady birthday gift. Even Queen." From the pocket in his sleeve he took out the pink camellia blossom that he had cut off a tree in the garden. He laid it in front of her, fearful he was overreaching himself. "Please excuse me if not good manners to give."

She looked at the flower. Five hundred people waited breathlessly to see how she would respond to the daring and the gallantry of the barbarian - and the trap he had, perhaps, unwittingly placed her in.

"I am not a Queen, Anjin-san," she said slowly. "Only the mother of the Heir and widow of the Lord Taiko. I cannot accept your gift as a Queen for I am not a Queen, could never be a Queen, do not pretend to be a Queen, and do not wish to be a Queen." Then she smiled at the room and said to everyone, "But as a lady on her birthday, perhaps I may have your permission to accept the Anjin-san's gift?"