Free Shogun by James Clavell Page A

the strangers, Lord,” Omi had said with a laugh. “They’re incredible. Most of them have blue eyes—like Siamese cats—and golden hair. But the best news of all is that they’re pirates ….”
    Omi had told him about the priest and what the priest had related about these corsairs and what the pirate had said and what had happened, and his excitement had tripled. Yabu had conquered his impatience to go aboard the ship and break the seals. Instead he had bathed and changed and ordered the barbarians brought in front of him.
    “You, priest,” he said, his voice sharp, hardly able to understand the priest’s bad Japanese. “Why is he so angry with you?”
    “He’s evil. Pirate. He worship devil.”
    Yabu leaned over to Omi, the man on his left. “Can you understand what he’s saying, nephew? Is he lying? What do you think?”
    “I don’t know, Lord. Who knows what barbarians really believe?I imagine the priest
thinks
the pirate is a devil worshiper. Of course, that’s all nonsense.”
    Yabu turned back to the priest, detesting him. He wished that he could crucify him today and obliterate Christianity from his domain once and for all. But he could not. Though he and all other
daimyos
had total power in their own domains, they were still subject to the overriding authority of the Council of Regents, the military ruling junta to whom the Taikō had legally willed his power during his son’s minority, and subject, too, to edicts the Taikō had issued in his lifetime, which were all still legally in force. One of these, promulgated years ago, dealt with the Portuguese barbarians and ordered that they were all protected persons and, within reason, their religion was to be tolerated and their priests allowed, within reason, to proselytize and convert. “You, priest! What else did the pirate say? What was he saying to you? Hurry up! Have you lost your tongue?”
    “Pirate says bad things. Bad. About more pirate war boatings—many.”
    “What do you mean, ‘war boatings’?”
    “Sorry, Lord, I don’t understand.”
    “‘War boatings’ doesn’t make sense,
neh
?”
    “Ah! Pirate says other ships war are in Manila, in Philippines.”
    “Omi-san, do you understand what he’s talking about?”
    “No, Lord. His accent’s appalling, it’s almost gibberish. Is he saying that more pirate ships are east of Japan?”
    “You, priest! Are these pirate ships off our coast? East? Eh?”
    “Yes, Lord. But I think he’s lying. He says at Manila.”
    “I don’t understand you. Where’s Manila?”
    “East. Many days’ journey.”
    “If any pirate ships come here, we’ll give them a pleasant welcome, wherever Manila is.”
    “Please excuse me, I don’t understand.”
    “Never mind,” Yabu said, his patience at an end. He had already decided the strangers were to die and he relished the prospect. Obviously these men did not come within the Taikō’s edict that specified “Portuguese barbarians,” and anyway they were pirates. As long as he could remember he had hated barbarians, their stench and filthiness and disgusting meat-eating habits, their stupid religion and arrogance and detestable manners. More than that, he was shamed, as was every
daimyo
, by their stranglehold over this Land of the Gods. A state of war had existed between China and Japan for centuries. China would allow no trade. Chinese silk cloth was vital to make the long, hot,humid Japanese summer bearable. For generations only a minuscule amount of contraband cloth had slipped through the net and was available, at huge cost, in Japan. Then, sixty-odd years ago, the barbarians had first arrived. The Chinese Emperor in Peking gave them a tiny permanent base at Macao in southern China and agreed to trade silks for silver. Japan had silver in abundance. Soon trade was flourishing. Both countries prospered. The middlemen, the Portuguese, grew rich, and their priests—Jesuits mostly—soon became vital to the trade. Only the priests managed