by Shaun Curry
After requesting Shiro and several other reliable boys keep watch on the mountain for any sign of approaching authorities, Joaquim’s elation inspired him to continue.
‘Holy baptism is the basis of all Christian life,’ Father Joaquim declared. ‘It is the gateway to life in the Spirit. It is also the door that provides access to other sacraments. Through baptism, we are freed from sin and reborn as sons of God.’
The congregation broke into a hymn. When the singing stopped Joaquim said, ‘I would like to welcome everyone here today, in particular the parents of this child.’ He stretched out his arms, motioned to the young couple, and offered them a warm welcome. ‘This moment is joyous, for this child is a gift of God, the Source of life, who now wishes to confer His own life on this little one.’
Joaquim asked the parents: ‘What name do you give your child?’
‘We name our child Peter,’ the father replied, casting a loving glance at his baby son.
‘And what do you ask of God’s Church?’
‘We ask for baptism,’ the parents replied in unison. ‘We request eternal life for our child.’
As they answered, the parents glanced repeatedly at the top of the neighbouring mountain to reassure themselves no one was coming. They returned their gaze towards their child as they fidgeted with their hands and shuffled their feet.
‘By your request, you accept the responsibility of raising him in the faith. Do you understand what you are asking?’
‘We do,’ the young parents replied. They smiled nervously.
Joaquim’s eyes sparkled as he looked down at the child. He made the Sign of the Cross on the child’s forehead and said, ‘Peter, the Christian community welcomes you with great joy. In its name, I claim you for Christ our Saviour, by the sign of His Cross. I now trace the cross on your forehead and invite your parents to do the same. I will now read from our Holy Book.’
After reading aloud from his Bible, it occurred again to Father Joaquim that this was truly the essence of his life’s work. He was in Japan to teach a new nation and baptize its citizens into God’s grace.
The moment passed, and he could see that among the attendees he was the one who enjoyed the celebration the most. Their faces reflected happiness for the newborn baby, but their stiff bodies and darting eyes told a different story. They were terrified of any sign of the Daimyo or any of his wandering samurai tasked with checking the villages. They threw repeated glances towards the top of the mountain, praying that the boys assigned to keep watch were doing their jobs to keep the village safe. One mistake would be fatal.
CHAPTER EIGHT
23 May 1626
Father Joaquim heard them again. The villagers had become so accustomed to the incessant, monotonous wah-wah-wah sounds – more bird-like than the typical frog croak – that they no longer heard the chorus of hundreds of hungry common brown toads calling out in the nearby rice fields. Like the toads in pursuit of dragonflies, the villagers were all there with a singular focus, Joaquim thought: to pray for him.
The journey to Nagasaki would not be easy. Warlords’ eyes watched each path. Samurai stationed at strategic locations would be on the lookout. He fought back a tingling in his fingers and toes. All he could do now was pray and hope he would make it back alive.
He had traded his priest’s robes for the more colourful high-quality silk attire of a Portuguese merchant. With large baggy pants, a loose-fitting shirt, a long overcoat and an oversized hat, he was barely recognizable, even to the villagers who knew him well. He’d made this risky trip before, and each time he’d donned the same disguise.
Father Joaquim took the time to study each of his parishioners with heartfelt warmth and affection. He knew full well that this could be the last time he would ever see them. Beloved friends and past residents of the village had disappeared forever, or ended up in Nagasaki, or even the capital, Edo, to endure torture and execution for the most trivial of reasons.
As the horizon eclipsed the last flicker of sunlight, Father Joaquim bowed to the villagers in appreciation, humbled that they cared so much for his welfare and safety. Then he lowered his head in a deep bow to the head of the village, Master Yamaguchi, not only because he was the most senior male in the community, but also because he was a close friend and mentor.
All Christian missionaries were now banned from the country. For many years, dating back to Japan’s second Shogun Hidetada, all European merchants had been confined to the port cities of Nagasaki and Hirado. Any foreigner discovered in the hills faced intense interrogation. One wrong answer – or even an interrogator’s suspicion – could lead to banishment, imprisonment, or worse.
In the gloom of a fading twilight, Joaquim picked up his European satchel, and left for the mountain. Travelling a precipitous path in the dark of night carried its own set of risks, but it was safer than the threat of being caught by the Daimyo’s samurai if he travelled in daylight. He knew his disguise would not keep him particularly safe, as the authorities already suspected Christian Fathers disguised themselves to travel throughout Japan in secret. But it was better than nothing.
Joaquim remembered the days when Christians walked freely through any part of the country, at liberty to share their faith with anyone who would listen. When he’d arrived at Nagasaki twenty-five years earlier, as a teenager, the authorities had accepted Christianity. Missionaries preached without fear.
Father Joaquim gripped a large rock. He grunted as he hauled himself up a steep part of the mountain, his thoughts drawn again to the past. Life then was bright and full of opportunity to spread God’s Word. Now, only persecution, torture, and death awaited them. A tear rolled down his cheek as he recalled lost kinsmen, persecuted and killed for their faith.
More than half a century before his own arrival, when the first Jesuit, St Francis Xavier, took his first step in Kagoshima, near the southern tip of the country, not only peasants, but also feudal landowners and warlords had embraced the Society’s teachings. Even several influential daimyo had converted to the faith. Religious freedom had continued until 1614, when, fearful of the West’s creeping influence on Japan, the first Shogun, Tokugawa Ieyasu, had banished Christianity and all foreign missionaries from the country.
Father Joaquim not only knew this recent Japanese history, he had been a part of it. He knew the Church’s mission had made extraordinary progress in converting Japanese to the faith before politics and corruption took its course. By the year of its banishment, the Church had converted some 300,000 Japanese souls. The priest took pride that the Church’s mission had made such extraordinary progress in converting Japanese to the faith so quickly.
He also recalled that during the early years of the banishment, the Society had made a bold stand. About ten years ago, however, when the arrests and martyrdoms of Christians took a dramatic upturn, it had become clear that if Christianity were to survive in Japan, it would need to go underground.
Thus it was that in a period of five short years, Father Joaquim’s missionary life had gone from public acceptance to severe persecution and martyrdom. The Shogun and his Bakufu regime had ordered that any Christians remaining in the country were subjected to torture and execution. European Fathers were viewed as the most subversive, defiant, and threatening to Japan’s long-standing authoritarian culture, and were considered special targets.
With little support from the papacy on account of a dwindling budget, the Jesuit missionaries had only their faith, their wits, and one another to rely on.
Father Joaquim pressed forward up the slopes, armed only with his faith, determined to save his village from death and destruction, and prepared to risk everything for the village – including his life.
CHAPTER NINE
24 May 1626
Shogun’s Castle, Toshima District, Edo, Musashi Province
At the far end of the Fujimi-tamon defence house on the grounds of Edo Castle, Shogun Iemitsu and his retainers were taking pleasure, readying their torture apparatus as several
Buddhist monks and the Roju elders who comprised the Bakufu cabinet watched.
In a dark corner of the room stood a senior Buddhist monk in a saffron robe. For years, he had been called to attend these gory torture sessions, and over time he had come to know the Shogun and his father, Hidetada, well. In his view, Iemitsu was a megalomaniac obsessed with power, despising Christians because he abhorred the thought of the Japanese adoring anyone other than himself. It worried him that what was happening to the Christians could easily start happening to fellow Buddhists should the Shogun begin to doubt them. He could not let that happen.
The monk considered Shogun Iemitsu a malicious man, much like his father, though more obsessed with supremacy and control than even his father and grandfather. He had ascended to the title of Shogun in 1623, at 19 becoming Japan’s third Shogun. From his early days, Shogun Iemitsu had made it his mission to exterminate Christianity from Japan, and was ruthless in his quest to fulfil that duty.
‘You will tell me where your flock is hiding,’ Iemitsu growled. The priest was covered in spreading purple welts along his nakedness and was stretched and shackled on a bamboo rack. He gently shook his head. Shogun Iemitsu signalled angrily to the torturers to dispense with their wooden clubs in favour of metal branding pincers. The three men removed the white-hot pincers from a nearby oven and moved towards the wide-eyed prisoner.
The Shogun grinned as he saw fear in the man’s eyes and his clenched fists. ‘Do you wish to say anything before they begin?’
The priest remained silent, refusing to give the Shogun the satisfaction of any kind of response. Shogun Iemitsu indicated the first torturer should brand the Father on his bare chest. The pincers sizzled, blistering the skin with a sweet, cloying smell. The tortured priest howled and lost consciousness.
Another torturer splashed water on the victim’s face. The Shogun waited for him to come to. ‘Do you not see the futility of your situation, Father?’ the Shogun said. ‘Look at where Christianity has brought you . . . to the edge of an agonizing death. Tell me where the others are hiding.’
The Japanese Father grimaced in pain, blinking to try and remain conscious. The Shogun stared into the priest’s eyes, enraged by the lack of response. Surely, the man was mocking him with what he could only describe as pity?
‘Christianity is a danger to the Empire and a corruption brought by foreign barbarians!’ he bellowed. ‘Christians are spies for the Pope and the kings of Portugal and Spain, and all those who wish to invade my country.’ His eyes narrowed in contempt as he snarled, ‘You are the enemy! A traitor! And you will all die for embracing this faith!’
He instructed another of his men to brand the disfigured priest, this time on his cheek. The Father’s face scrunched in agony as the implement made its mark. A piteous scream sprang from his throat as the brand ate into his skin. His shackles clanked as he thrashed and gargled, spitting bloody froth and phlegm, weeping from the continuing agony of his wounds.
Stunned into terrified silence, the Shogun’s retinue dared not move a muscle or show any sign of dissent before the Shogun. Cabinet members grimaced and covered their faces with their clothing as the stench of burned flesh filled their noses. They avoided eye contact with each other as the Father’s torment continued.
‘Where is your God now, priest? See how he has abandoned you and your friends.’
The Father whispered in a cracked voice, ‘Jesus watches over me. I am never alone.’
‘What did you say?’ The Shogun moved closer, his eyes riveted on the man’s bruised and reddened eyes.
The priest mustered what little strength remained and said, ‘Where I am weak, the Lord is strong.’
‘Where is your Jesus now, you pathetic rat?’ the Shogun shrieked. He looked around the room at his retinue, each of whom nodded in agreement while trying to avoid the sight of the dying priest.
‘To find life, one must be willing to lose it,’ the tortured man whispered.
The Shogun gave a disdainful snort. This should have been more satisfying. That it wasn’t enraged him. He charged across the room and fetched his own personal short sword. He unsheathed it, whipped the sharp blade through the air, and with one swift stroke severed the priest’s head. It fell to the ground and rolled at the feet of one of the Buddhist monks, who involuntarily scooted backwards.
‘Burn his body,’ the Shogun ordered. He wiped the blood from his blade with a black cloth. ‘All of it. We don’t want to risk making a martyr of this traitor with his body parts.’
‘Do not worry, Lord,’ answered Sakai Tadakatsu, one of his cabinet members. ‘He never existed.’
CHAPTER TEN
28 May 1626
District of Nagasaki, Kyushu
Too late, Father Joaquim spotted the six samurai blocking the path.
‘Halt where you are!’ one of them shouted and hurried towards the foreigner. Three of the other five tripped over one another as they chased behind.
‘Don’t try to escape!’ another shouted, his hand on the hilt of his katana as they approached.
Father Joaquim’s fingers twitched as he gave the men a darting gaze. Unable to do anything else, he assumed the role of a Portuguese merchant and approached the samurai.
‘Konichiwa,’ he said. He kept his posture strong as he bowed and proceeded towards the field’s edge to greet his pursuers.
‘We have you!’ a zealous samurai bellowed as he grabbed Joaquim and thrust him to his knees with great force. Another samurai shoved his boot in his middle, sending him to the ground.
‘I’m on official trading business,’ Joaquim said as he caught his breath. He struggled to keep his voice calm as he addressed his samurai captors.
‘What official business?’ the leader demanded. He thrust his foot into Father Joaquim’s side. ‘The Shogun prohibits all foreign merchants from leaving Nagasaki and Hirado!’
Another samurai unsheathed his wakizashi and pointed the short sword at Joaquim’s head.
‘I’m on official business on behalf of Governor Hasegawa Gonroku,’ Joaquim replied with a stern voice.
‘Liar!’
‘What business do you have assaulting a trader on official government business?’ Father Joaquim did his best to appear offended that an official mission be questioned.
‘All foreign traders are forbidden from leaving Nagasaki and Hirado,’ the leader repeated.
‘Yes, that’s true – unless they’re authorized by the Governor,’ Joaquim answered, still held on the ground by samurai, who were pinning back his arms.
‘We are not aware of any exceptions,’ the leader countered. Nevertheless, his eyes narrowed and he appeared to be wrestling with his eagerness to harm the foreigner sprawled before him, and a sudden creeping fear he could anger an important official if he acted impetuously. He said, ‘What evidence do you have?’
‘Documentation, in my satchel.’ The Father indicated the bag with his head.
‘Grab the bag,’ the leader said.
A younger samurai snatched Father Joaquim’s satchel and thrust him back down.
‘I’m on official government business. What right do you have to hold me like this?’ Joaquim asked, channelling his growing fear into a feigned indignation.
‘Shut your mouth, gaijin, or I’ll cut out your tongue!’
Two of the samurai rustled through the Jesuit’s bag. The men dug eager hands deep in the bag’s interior. They produced a European compass, a map of Kyushu, some food, and a journal.
‘Where is this documentation?’ one samurai shouted as he breathed heavily while continuing to rummage through the satchel.
‘There.’ Father Joaquim pointed at an envelope with an official seal.
Irritated, the samurai grabbed the envelope and tore it open, breaking the seal. The others were silent as the samurai read the letter aloud.
‘I write this letter to attest that the Magistrate of Nagasaki provides official permission for Portuguese merchant Joaquim Martinez to travel on foot withou
t restriction between Nagasaki and Hirado . . .’
‘As I said –’
‘Shut up, dog!’ The samurai resumed reading. ‘ . . . to fulfil merchant duties as prescribed by the Governor of Nagasaki, Hasegawa Gonroku.’
‘Is it signed and stamped?’ asked the leader.
‘Yes, by the Governor, and it bears the official seal of the magistrate.’
‘Why would the Governor have you travel by foot and not sea?’ the leader demanded.
‘It is private business,’ Father Joaquim said.
‘Answer the question!’
‘I am a Portuguese representative of the Governor. He has asked me to gauge interest in new silks from some of his closest supporters in the region.’
‘For what purpose?’
‘To determine their needs and convey them to the Governor. Then I am to monitor these requested items as they arrive on Portuguese ships into Nagasaki from Macao.’
‘What else?’
‘In Nagasaki, I am to negotiate lower prices for these goods from my fellow Portuguese traders, as Governor Hasegawa Gonroku would like to secure them for his closest allies.’
The samurai tilted their chins down and frowned, appearing deflated by the explanation.
‘Grab your things and move on.’ The leader had decided. His shoulders slumped and Father Joaquim was allowed to rise to his feet.
A samurai thrust the satchel into his chest and pushed him towards Nagasaki.
As Father Joaquim walked away, it occurred to him that the authorities would have rewarded them a small fortune in silver for apprehending a banned priest in disguise. Thank you, Lord, for not letting them spot that my documentation was a forgery.