by Shaun Curry
He’d killed him. Strangled him. A man almost twice his weight.
Even the authorities had agreed it was self-defence, but the memory and the guilt had followed him each day like a stray dog. Perhaps that’s why it had been easy to enrol, a few months later, in the College of Jesus at the University at Coimbra. Eventually he’d been sent to Japan with the Society of Jesus. And it was here that Father Joaquim had found a symbiotic home in Master Yamaguchi’s village, where he proselytized the Word of God and, in return, learned the Way of the Sword.
Arima was located on the Shimabara Peninsula in the old province of Hizen, on the island of Kyushu, Japan’s southernmost island. All the villages in Arima feared Lord Shigemasa. But those in this village had a special reason to fear the approaching Daimyo and his samurai.
* * *
Daimyo Matsukura Shigemasa surveyed the village in the distance. He was a large man with a battle-scarred face, and could command obedience with a simple stare. He straightened his helmet that brandished jutting horn-like ornamentations. Like other days when he’d conducted surprise visits, today he’d chosen to wear traditional battle dress, painted in his official colours of black and red. His body armour included a metal breastplate lacquered to give a smooth finish, coupled with layers of protective metal plates.
He passed the rice paddies and arrived at the upper edge of the village. ‘Where is Yamaguchi-san?’ he shouted.
‘He’s resting, Lord Shigemasa,’ a peasant replied.
‘Find him.’ Shigemasa glared at the man bowing before him.
Another man darted away and ran down a narrow path.
The Daimyo roared at the bowed heads before him, ‘I have heard reports of Christians hiding in Arima. Are you hiding any of the vermin here?’
‘No, Lord Shigemasa. There are none here,’ someone answered. ‘We are a Buddhist community, Lord.’
‘So you say.’ Shigemasa scanned the peasants kneeling before him. Several dared to glance up at him. ‘I will have the pleasure of torturing and killing any Christians found on my lands . . . including those who aid or conceal them.’
‘Yes, Lord, we understand.’
‘Do you? We will see.’ Shigemasa motioned for his soldiers to search the village.
Several samurai dismounted from their horses, heaving villagers out of their way as they walked towards the dwellings. They approached the first home and a bulky samurai kicked the door open. The door spun backwards on frail hinges as he charged into the shack. The hut owners, standing near the front door, gasped at the blatant disrespect. Not only did the samurai neglect to bow before entering, as was the custom, but they stormed from house to house, their swords raised and ready to be used, treating the villagers like an enemy. Enslaved by fear, the villagers could only watch and submit.
In shack after shack, swords skewered rickety beds, fragile furniture and mounted personal memorabilia. Armoured men pitched clothing through windows, rummaged through meagre sleeping quarters. Swords slashed through curtains and clattered through pottery, water jugs and overturned cooking pots.
‘There’s nothing here, my Lord!’ called a samurai over his shoulder to Shigemasa.
Shigemasa nodded in satisfaction and turned his attention towards the village’s small Buddhist temple. ‘Go in there.’
Samurai thundered through the temple entrance. Their eyes fell on burned offerings of candles, then flowers, and finally Buddhist beads. They scrutinized the incense tables.
‘Nothing!’ called the head samurai as he exited the temple. ‘There is no evidence of Christian observance here.’ He bowed towards Daimyo Shigemasa.
The nearest peasant looked up and ventured to speak again. ‘As I mentioned, Lord Shigemasa, there are no Christians in this valley.’ He cast his eyes down, quickly realising his fault in staring at Shigemasa.
‘Grab him and put him in a straw coat! Let him do the mino odori – the raincoat dance!’ shouted Daimyo Shigemasa. Samurai elbowed the peasant to the dust and spun his face away from the warlord. A samurai sword speared his leg. The man screamed in pain as the blade was pulled free. Soldiers tied his hands behind him as blood pulsed from the wound. They wrapped dry straw around his upper body while other samurai poured hot lamp oil over his head.
‘Mercy, Lord!’ cried the peasant’s wife, falling to her knees. Shigemasa stared at her with a cruel resolve. She wailed hysterically, then stood to shield her daughters from what was about to happen.
Daimyo Shigemasa held a match above his head and glared at the villagers gathered around him. Master Yamaguchi hurried up, interrupting the Daimyo’s silent gaze.
‘Lord Shigemasa, thank you for visiting. Welcome,’ Yamaguchi said.
‘I doubt I’m welcome,’ Shigemasa said. ‘I am here for your taxes.’
‘But Lord Shigemasa, we paid our taxes two weeks ago . . . and on time.’ Master Yamaguchi raised his chin. ‘I believe our small community is the most reliable in all your lands.’
‘Perhaps too reliable,’ the Daimyo replied. ‘If you can pay your taxes with no difficulty, I must not be charging you enough.’ He turned to look at the rice paddies, now empty of workers. ‘If you can all be in your huts when I come down the mountain and are not working in the fields, then I have been too lenient with you. Beginning today, I am doubling your taxes.’
‘But, Lord Shigemasa, our community already pays more taxes than most! We cannot do it!’ a man cried out in anguish.
‘The next person – man, woman, or child – who questions me will lose their tongue.’ Shigemasa looked around, assuring himself they had heard and understood his edict. ‘I will return in one month to collect your outstanding amount.’ He gazed at the surrounding rice fields with a grin, then continued. ‘Rice or a cash payment of 500 silver coins. You may choose how to pay.’
‘May I speak, Lord?’ Master Yamaguchi beseeched Shigemasa.
‘What is it?’
‘What if we need more time?’
Shigemasa’s gaze flicked to the women and children in front of him before replying with sufficient volume to reach everyone. ‘If you fail to make the payment within one month, we will take your women and children as hostages.’
Master Yamaguchi heard a low gasp. The Daimyo raised a hand, motioning for his samurai to head off. ‘Before I take leave,’ the Daimyo added, ‘there is one other way for you to pay your taxes.’
‘What, Lord?’ a villager cried out. ‘What other way?’
‘Find Christians who are hiding and inform me of their whereabouts.’
‘But we are Buddhists, Lord. We know nothing of Christians.’
‘Then let me motivate you,’ the Daimyo replied. ‘The rewards for information leading to their capture are 300 silver coins for priests, 200 coins for brothers, and 100 coins for any other vile Christian!’
Shigemasa turned his horse to face the mountains as his band of samurai attended to their mounts. He spurred his horse into a walk, saying as he rode away, ‘You would be wise to help us root out any hidden Christians in Arima – and not just for the money.’
‘What do you mean, Lord?’ Master Yamaguchi asked, running alongside the horse.
‘There are developments in the regime. The Shogun has appointed Mizuno Kawachi as the new governor of Nagasaki. His first task will be to exterminate all Christian dogs from these lands. He arrives in June.’
‘We will cooperate in any way we can, Lord.’
‘You would be wise to do so,’ the Daimyo answered. ‘I can assure you the new governor and I will hunt down every hidden Christian and annihilate them – all of them!’
He signalled his flag bearers towards the mountain. As he left the village he called back, ‘One month. Or I will take your women and children, and the man wearing the straw coat will dance and burn on my return.’
CHAPTER TWO
For confidential delivery to Father Andre Palmeiro
Visitor of Jesuit Province of Japan and
Vice-Province of China
Mission of the Society of Jesus, Macao, China
22 May, Year of our Lord 1626
Dear Father Andre,
I pray my letter finds you well.
Please accept my first letter to you in your new role as Visitor. I am delighted to learn of your appointment, and am further encouraged that our Paternity in Rome remains responsive to our fast-changing circumstances in the Japans and the Far East.
I perhaps write more than is necessary now in order to give you a present and necessary history of our circumstances, as communication is all but impossible between Macao and Japan and you may not have been given intelligence of our circumstances that is up to date.
As I am sure you are aware, the mission in Japan has become increasingly hazardous over recent years, with hundreds of fathers, brothers, and catechists brutally executed.
Since Tokugawa Iemitsu became the Shogun of Japan three years ago, the number and severity of Christian persecutions and torture has multiplied. Without question, it is now the most hostile environment I have ever witnessed for our Society since my arrival in Japan almost twenty-five years ago.
Shogun Iemitsu feels his authority threatened by our teachings and the Word of God, and he has become the most oppressive leader our Society has ever had to contend with. We are constantly hiding from a militarized regime determined to exterminate us and all things foreign.
The aristocracy in Japan pays him homage, but many in the lower classes find ways to disobey him – a development the Shogun finds inconceivable. His answer is to believe that the peasant classes have been seduced and supported by a foreign power intent on displacing him. Alas, he believes the Society is the channel for that foreign-inspired revolution – a suspicion that has led to our persecution and torture. As a result, I believe circumstances will only get worse for us before they get better.
Our mission on the southern island of Kyushu has become even more perilous. Earlier this year, we heard news that Shogun Iemitsu has appointed Mizuno Kawachi as the new governor of Nagasaki to replace Hasegawa Gonroku, who largely resisted our persecution. Under the express orders of the Shogun, Kawachi has resolved to stamp out Christianity by any means necessary.
This adverse development will spell extreme persecution for all Christians on the island of Kyushu, which includes the city of Nagasaki, our largest Christian foothold, and our nearby community in Arima.
Following months of careful consideration, I will coordinate an exodus of Christians from Arima to Yezo in the north, where I understand Christians can live in less danger of death and persecution.
However, I assure you I will stand steadfast, acting as the anchor for our Mission and our Society in both Nagasaki and Arima. Rest assured, I shall not abandon any Christian while I am alive. As always, I believe we will weather this storm just as we have the many great storms that have battered our faith in the past.
I know that God is with us, and His Word will take foundation in Japan. I believe the great light of our Lord and Father Almighty will shine through the clouds, dispelling the darkness that currently hovers over Japan.
Now more than ever, I place my trust and faith in our Lord and Father.
I remain your most devoted servant,
Father Joaquim Martinez, Society of Jesus
Father Joaquim reread his epistle to the head of the Jesuit Order in Macao, and after a decisive nod, folded up the letter, placed it into an envelope, and used his signet ring to secure it with a wax seal. He paused then drew a Buddhist insignia on the back of the envelope. A necessity, he thought. Our activities must remain covert – at least for now.
He pondered the information he had conveyed. The situation had been unpredictable for some time, but was even more fragile if reports of Kawachi’s brutality were true.
He snapped out of his musings at three short knocks at the door. He glanced around, then shoved the letter under his bed, calling out, ‘Enter.’
Furniture scraped back along bare floorboards, followed by a low creaking sound, and the soft swish of fabric as a young Portuguese man in his mid-twenties appeared, revealing a secret doorway behind him. Father Joaquim appraised the new arrival. Although clean, the man’s traditional Japanese clothes were old and ragged, in contrast to his youthful face.
‘Catechist Miguel, good morning.’
‘And to you, Father.’ After a moment’s hesitation, Miguel said:
‘You wanted to see me?’
‘Yes, Miguel. I wanted to let you know I am taking a short trip to Nagasaki tomorrow. I’ll leave at sunset.’
‘Tomorrow evening? That is sudden. I’m not sure I can make all the necessary preparations by then. Can it not wait?’
‘No, it cannot,’ Father Joaquim replied. ‘I need to visit our good friend Mateus da Costa as soon as possible.’ Father Joaquim saw an unspoken question on Miguel’s face, sighed, then added, ‘Daimyo Shigemasa has increased our taxes beyond our ability to cope. The village can neither produce enough rice nor gain enough silver to pay his demands on time. I must seek Mateus’s help. Our situation is becoming more precarious.’
Miguel nodded in agreement but did not look happy. Father Joaquim saw the anxiety on Miguel’s face. ‘Don’t worry, Miguel. I will speak with Master Yamaguchi.’
‘Yes, Father. I will wait to hear from you. Yamaguchi-san informs me he is teaching this morning.’
‘That’s good news,’ Father Joaquim exclaimed. ‘I always enjoy Master Yamaguchi’s lessons. Shall we walk over together?’
Father Joaquim took a moment to gather his budo training gear. In exchange for his Christian ministry, he had been under Master Yamaguchi’s tutelage in the Way of the Sword since his arrival in Japan when he was just 22. He had proved himself a gifted martial artist with great potential, according to Yamaguchi-san. Now, at 47, many in the valley considered the tall, athletic priest to be a master himself.
As Master Yamaguchi had advised, Father Joaquim and the others who trained in the village kept their budo lessons a secret. Social classes were clear: peasants were peasants, and samurai were samurai. Given that peasants’ only purpose was to produce rice and perform other manual labour for the upper classes, the regime prohibited them from owning weapons. According to the Government, there was no need for them to learn budo or receive any kind of martial training. To be caught doing so was to invite severe punishment.
With his training gear in hand, Father Joaquim left the hidden room with Catechist Miguel. They slid the concealed door back into place, rehung the Buddhist linen hanging on the wall, and moved the furniture back to conceal any trace of a secret room before exiting on their way to practice.
Outside the hut, a large, fierce-looking young man greeted them. Legs spread wide, he wore a tattered, grey-coloured gi, the traditional Japanese martial arts training uniform.
‘Good morning, Father.’ The young man bowed in formal respect.
‘Good morning, Yamamoto-san.’ Father Joaquim bowed in return.
He smiled at the young man before taking a deep breath of fresh air. Mist drifted across the surrounding rice fields. Forested hills and verdant mountains rose at the edge of the paddy fields, on which a light rain fell.
Yamamoto strode off down a path and the two men followed.
CHAPTER THREE
22 May 1626
Arima, Shimabara Peninsula, Kyushu
The winding path led to a plain, almost dilapidated building made of grey wooden planks, with a simple thatched straw roof, much like other dwellings in the village. At the end of the pathway they arrived at the entrance to the dojo, the martial arts training hall. They removed their sandals, bowed low, and entered, ready to begin a practice that might one day save their lives.
Father Joaquim wore his black gi. He glanced around the dojo at twenty or so other students, most wearing ragged, off-white gis. Several were stretching in preparation for Master Yamaguchi’s lesson.
A senior student clapped his hands three times, announcing the Sensei’s arrival. Master Yamaguchi
entered through a private doorway at the rear of the dojo, carrying a sword.
The students assembled in rows in a kneeling position – a seiza – with the most senior in front and the newest at the back. Master Yamaguchi laid his katana in its saya or sheath at the front of the room then walked to the centre of the dojo and bowed his head to the assembled students. The students returned the respectful greeting.
Yamaguchi turned to Father Joaquim, bowed again, and invited him to the front of the dojo. ‘Hajime,’ he said. We shall begin.
‘This morning we will learn about the power of hard and soft.’ He handed a wooden practice knife to Father Joaquim. Yamaguchi made a gesture specifying the attack he wished the priest to make. Joaquim made no allowance for the frail-looking old man as he attacked. He slashed at Yamaguchi’s throat. The sensei stepped back, allowing the knife to sweep past, then in a blur of motion grabbed Joaquim’s wrist, twisted and flipped him onto his side. The priest found himself peering up into the crinkled eyes of his teacher. He laughed – no matter how skilled he became, the old man still bested him effortlessly. As the priest gathered himself to rise, he felt a sharp stabbing pain in his wrist, forcing him to drop the knife. He nodded in admiration as he rubbed his arm. ‘Impressive.’
The other students nodded to themselves and bowed to their master in appreciation as they absorbed the new technique.
‘Yokemenuchi koetegaeshi tanto-dori,’ said Master Yamaguchi, naming the technique. He bowed again to the dojo, and invited his students to practise it among themselves.
The students paired off. A short while later, Yamaguchi watched Chiba, one of the younger and more excitable students, struggle to disarm his partner. After multiple failed attempts he clearly grew frustrated and kneed his more powerful training partner in the side in order to force him to give up the knife.
The master clapped his hands and the students lowered themselves into a seiza position. ‘Chiba-san, you seem to be having difficulty disarming Yamamoto-san. Father Joaquim, perhaps you could provide Chiba-san with a demonstration.’