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water with herbs in it."
    "They simply won't understand grog.  Nothing to drink but hot water and herbs—the good Lord help us!  Suppose there's no liquor in the whole country!"  His eyebrows soared.  "Do me a huge favor, Pilot.  Ask for some liquor, will you?"
    Blackthorne had found the house that they had been assigned on the eastern edge of the village.  The samurai guard had let him pass, but his men had confirmed that they themselves could not go out of the garden gate.  The house was many-roomed like his, but bigger and staffed with many servants of various ages, both men and women.
    There were eleven of his men alive.  The dead had been taken away by the Japanese.  Lavish portions of fresh vegetables had begun to banish the scurvy and all but two of the men were healing rapidly.  These two had blood in their bowels and their insides were fluxed.  Vinck had bled them but this had not helped.  By nightfall he expected them to die.  The Captain-General was in another room, still very sick.
    Sonk, the cook, a stocky little man, was saying with a laugh, "It's good here, like Johann says, Pilot, excepting the food and no grog.  And it's all right with the natives so long as you don't wear your shoes in the house.  It sends the little yellow bastards mad if you don't take off your shoes."
    "Listen," Blackstone said.  "There's a priest here.  A Jesuit."
    "Christ Jesus!"  All banter left them as he told them about the priest and about the beheading.
    "Why'd he chop the man's head off, Pilot?"
    "I don't know."
    "We better get back aboard.  If Papists catch us ashore . . . "
    There was great fear in the room now.  Salamon, the mute, watched Blackthorne.  His mouth worked, a bubble of phlegm appearing at the corners.
    "No, Salamon, there's no mistake," Blackthorne said kindly, answering the silent question.  "He said he was Jesuit."
    "Christ, Jesuit or Dominican or what-the-hell-ever makes no muckeating difference," Vinck said.  "We'd better get back aboard.  Pilot, you ask that samurai, eh?"
    "We're in God's hands," Jan Roper said.  He was one of the merchant adventurers, a narrow-eyed young man with a high forehead and thin nose.  "He will protect us from the Satan worshipers."
    Vinck looked back at Blackthorne.  "What about Portuguese, Pilot?  Did you see any around?"
    "No.  There were no signs of them in the village."
    "They'll swarm here soon as they know about us."  Maetsukker said it for all of them and the boy Croocq let out a moan.
    "Yes, and if there's one priest, there's got to be others."  Ginsel licked dry lips.  "And then their God-cursed conquistadores are never far away."
    "That's right," Vinck added uneasily.  "They're like lice."
    "Christ Jesus!  Papists!" someone muttered.  "And conquistadores!"
    "But we're in the Japans, Pilot?" van Nekk asked.  "He told you that?"
    "Yes.  Why?"
    Van Nekk moved closer and dropped his voice.  "If priests are here, and some of the natives are Catholic, perhaps the other part's true—about the riches, the gold and silver and precious stones."  A hush fell on them.  "Did you see any, Pilot?  Any gold?  Any gems on the natives, or gold?"
    "No.  None."  Blackthorne thought a moment.  "I don't remember seeing any.  No necklaces or beads or bracelets.  Listen, there's something else to tell you.  I went aboard Erasmus but she's sealed up."  He related what had happened and their anxiety increased.
    "Jesus, if we can't go back aboard and there are priests ashore and Papists. . . . We've got to get away from here."  Maetsukker's voice began to tremble.  "Pilot, what are we going to do?  They'll burn us!  Conquistadores—those bastards'll shove their swords . . ."
    "We're in God's hands," Jan Roper called out confidently.  "He will protect us from the anti-Christ.  That's His promise.  There's nothing to be afraid of."
    Blackthorne said, "The way the samurai Omi-san snarled at the priest—I'm sure he hated him.  That's good,