by Shaun Curry
‘We cannot produce Lord Shigemasa’s new quota, no matter how hard we work,’ one of the older farmers declared. ‘What will we do?’
The murmurs intensified.
‘We must do our best,’ Joaquim answered.
‘But what about Lord Shigemasa? He has no mercy,’ the farmer continued. ‘Our best will not be enough. If we cannot meet his quota, he will destroy our families.’
‘We must try hard,’ Joaquim replied. He took a moment to make eye contact with several of the village’s elders before adding, ‘And pray to the Lord.’
‘But what if the Lord does not hear us?’ Tamiko, a young mother asked. ‘I cannot let the Daimyo take my children.’
‘The Lord always hears your prayers,’ Father Joaquim said. ‘Even before you ask, the Lord has answered you.’
‘How do you know that?’
The priest saw the desperation in the woman’s face. ‘From the Scriptures,’ he answered. ‘The prophet Isaiah tells us: “And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer.” This means that even before you pray, the Lord has heard you.’
‘What should we pray for?’
‘For the Lord to look after us – to protect us and ensure our survival. We must have faith. He will answer.’
‘That seems very wishful. What more can we do?’ a villager named Noboru asked.
Father Joaquim closed his eyes. He lifted his head skyward before replying. ‘You can see God helping you and thank Him for it.’ Looking back at Noboru, he continued. ‘The greater your thankfulness, the stronger His response. The Lord always responds to those who believe and have faith – always! This is His promise.’
A teenage girl stepped forward. ‘Father, I prayed for the Lord’s help, but He didn’t answer me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I prayed for help from Nagasaki, from your friend Mateus, but we did not receive it. Why did the Lord not answer?’
‘The Lord always answers your prayers, Hanako-chan, but sometimes it may not be the way you like or expect.’
‘But why not in Nagasaki?’
‘I don’t know, but the Lord has infinite wisdom. Perhaps He means for us to follow a different path.’
Father Joaquim put his hand on Hanako’s shoulder and continued. ‘The key is to trust the Lord and have faith that He will answer. Don’t worry about how God will answer; just have faith He will.’
Hanako nodded her head, as did several other villagers. She smiled thinly.
Father Joaquim looked out over the crowd. ‘A storm is coming, but if you have faith in God, He will protect us.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
17 June 1626
Magistrate’s Office, Nagasaki City
Mizuno Kawachi was a sinister-looking man with rough features and small, dark eyes. As he rode into the city at the head of a retinue of mounted samurai and foot soldiers he scrutinized Nagasaki. Relative to other major cities in Japan, Nagasaki had a more commercial feel to it, owing to it being the country’s largest international trading port.
He continued to make his way towards the city centre. Buildings in the city’s core were several storeys high. Dozens of active merchants lined street-level stalls and shops with a variety of things for sale from around the country, as well as the world, including food, spices, art, clothing, and above all, silk from China. Everywhere he looked there was a flurry of commercial activity: buying, selling, negotiating, and bartering by Japanese and Europeans.
Kawachi noted all of it, including the beauty of the city centre, where long vertical flags hung from tall poles along the streets. Elegant lanterns hung from wires that ran the length of the roads, alongside ubiquitous, eye-catching displays and signs.
Surrounded by his samurai entourage, Kawachi bumped his way through the bustling streets, gazing at its odd European influences and items for sale as he passed its residents, who gazed at him in reverence. He could see many had been expecting his arrival and this pleased him. As residents stared at him atop his tall horse, he lifted his chin and pushed out his chest. This was all his now.
Not far away, Governor Hasegawa Gonroku was reading a document in his room at the Nagasaki magistrate’s office. The afternoon was warm, even for mid-June.
In two weeks, Portuguese ships would arrive in Nagasaki from Macao laden with silk, for the busy trading season. Outside the Governor’s door, two officials reviewed documents that required official approval, affixing the magistrate’s official stamp to various papers.
They were interrupted by a band of samurai and officials who barged through the front door. The officials gasped at the rudeness of the unexpected arrival and straightaway put down their paperwork and bowed to the high-ranking officials. ‘Bugyo, Gonroku-san,’ one called out, drawing the Governor’s attention.
‘What?’ Governor Gonroku looked up from his work through an open door.
‘We have an official visit. Please, come right away.’
The Governor rushed into the front room. He scanned the delegation and recognized the new Nagasaki governor straightaway.
‘Mizuno Kawachi-san.’ Gonroku bowed. ‘Welcome.’
Kawachi and the members of his entourage bowed perfunctorily in return.
Gonroku said, ‘I was not expecting you for another week or two.’
‘I wanted to make an impact,’ Kawachi responded. He squinted with distaste as he looked around the office. ‘Under the Shogun’s orders, I am here to relieve you of your duties – right now. Go home.’
Speechless, Governor Gonroku’s mouth fell open before he continued. ‘This is very unexpected. I have work to complete, murders to investigate, documents to process.’ The Governor’s frustration and growing humiliation were evident in his tone and reddened face.
‘That will not be necessary. You may leave now.’ Kawachi spoke dismissively, and narrowed his eyes in contempt as he stared at his predecessor.
‘Do you dishonour me?’ Gonroku returned his replacement’s contemptuous glare.
‘You have dishonoured yourself.’ Kawachi scanned the office, planning how best to use it.
‘Of what do you speak? Elaborate!’
‘Your main task was to exterminate Christianity in the District of Nagasaki, but you closed your eyes to this disease infecting our land. Your dishonour is your own.’
‘That is nonsense. I have Christian prisoners, including priests, locked up now!’
‘Why are they not dead?’
Kawachi locked eyes with Gonroku. The latter shifted his gaze to the table. ‘It is not the right time.’
‘Nonsense! You delay crucifying them because you have a soft heart.’
‘I do not.’
‘For years, you have abstained from your duties!’
‘What?’ Gonroku’s face turned red as his body quivered.
‘You have pronounced a lack of evidence to convict; you have forewarned Christians to run; you have even let Christians go free! You have failed the Shogun!’
‘I have not!’
‘It matters not. You wished to be relieved of your duties, and now you have been.’ Kawachi waved his hand towards the door. ‘Go.’
‘But I have work to conclude, trading approvals to complete.’
‘Another area of concern to the Shogun. Even this you cannot do well.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The Dutch complain that you favour the Portuguese. Even local Japanese complain that you favour them.’
‘That is trade. Someone always complains about their share.’
‘Are you taking bribes?’
Kawachi watched the blood drain from Gonroku’s face.
‘That is preposterous! What accusations are you making?’ Gonroku’s agitation became more pronounced.
‘If the shame is too great, Gonroku, you may commit seppuku.’
‘I will not commit seppuku. I have taken no bribes!’
‘It is clear you are not fit for your post. Why would we permit you to continue you
r work? Now go. Leave my presence.’
Governor Gonroku stormed into the next room and snatched his bag as Kawachi and his retinue looked on, their satisfaction apparent. Disgraced and humiliated, the former governor exited the front door with his head down.
The District of Nagasaki had a new ruler.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
18 June 1626
Arima
Yori was supposed to be on guard duty, but the morning sun had quickly warmed the fields, and the shade of leafy branches, the buzzing of insects, and chirping of birds had lulled the boy into dozing off against a thick tree trunk. By the time the seven-year-old heard and then spotted Daimyo Shigemasa and his detachment of samurai, they were almost on top of him.
One of the Daimyo’s samurai charged his horse to within inches of Yori.
‘Aaaaagghh!’ Yori screamed.
‘Shut up, boy!’ Shigemasa snarled as he rode up. He stared him into silence, gazing at him with cruel, narrowed eyes.
Master Yamaguchi, working the end of the field closest to the mountain, heard the scream and, looking up, spotted the approaching samurai. He sprinted as fast as his old legs could carry him and ran towards Father Joaquim, who was working at the other end of the field.
‘You must hide! Now! Shigemasa is coming!’
‘Alert the village. Get as many of the women and children inside as possible,’ Joaquim said.
‘You must also hide, Father.’
‘I will hide behind my wall, as usual, but I will need someone to seal it behind me.’
‘I will send someone. Now, move!’
The peasants had only minutes to spare, and all the arrangements had to be perfect or the consequences would be dire. But with so little time, coordination was poor. Some women tried to place too many children into confined spaces, under floorboards, or in secret rooms behind hidden walls, but there was not enough space and they would not all fit. Eyes wide with jerking arm movements, the women cried as they tried to shove their children inside. Elsewhere villagers sought to hide as many of their Christian relics as possible, replacing them with Buddhist items of worship. To maintain their ruse, it was imperative to keep their Buddhist story consistent.
Shigemasa and his men would be in the village within minutes, but still preparations were not complete.
Yamaguchi hiked to the edge of the village to greet the Daimyo. Behind him several peasant farmers followed to pay homage to the man who could dictate their fate. Shigemasa stopped his procession at the entrance to the village as Yamaguchi approached.
‘Daimyo Shigemasa, it is a pleasure. We were not expecting you.’ He bowed a welcome. Behind him, the villagers also bowed low.
‘I know you were not expecting me. We are early.’
‘Yes, Lord,’ Yamaguchi replied. ‘How can we serve you, Lord?’
‘I am here to collect the taxes you owe me.’
‘We are working very hard on your new quota, Lord. I am sure you will be proud of us.’
‘Then where is it?’ Shigemasa said.
‘It is not yet time, Lord. You gave us a month.’ Yamaguchi wrinkled his brow and rubbed his face.
‘I changed my mind. Show me what you have.’
‘But this is very unusual, Lord. I must insist you permit us the full month given to us.’
‘Nonsense! Show me what you have . . . now!’
‘Fetch Daimyo Shigemasa’s production,’ Master Yamaguchi said as he turned to face his fellow villagers. Peasants ran off to various storage areas to retrieve sacks of rice.
As he waited, Shigemasa scanned the village and counted the peasants. ‘Where are the rest of your villagers?’
‘What do you mean, Lord?’ Yamaguchi said.
‘Where are the rest of the women and children? I recall seeing more last time.’
Men returned, placing their bags of rice before the warlord and bowing, diverting the Daimyo’s attention from his question about missing villagers.
‘Is that it?’ Shigemasa snarled.
‘We have more bags in the fields,’ Yamaguchi answered.
‘Bring them.’
‘They are coming, Lord.’
Moments later, a few more men arrived from the fields, gasping for air as they hauled several more half-filled sacks behind them.
‘Is that it?’
‘Yes, Lord. I think this is a record production for us, given the time we have had to work.’ Yamaguchi prayed that Shigemasa’s concern over the rice production would cause him to forget his question about the missing villagers.
‘Silence!’ Shigemasa examined the bags before him.
‘I see only a few dozen sacks here. This production is embarrassing for this village.’
‘It is a good production,’ a twitchy peasant shouted from the back of the crowd.
‘Do you disrespect me?’
‘No, Lord,’ Yamaguchi interjected. ‘We would never disrespect you. We serve you to the best of our abilities.’
‘This production is insulting! How dare you present this? You are all lazy mutts!’
‘But, Lord—’ Yamaguchi started to protest.
‘Silence, or my samurai will silence you for me.’ Shigemasa looked around. ‘I know why your production is so low.’ He turned in his saddle to observe the village in the distance. ‘Some of your people are hiding from me when they should be out here working. Now, where are the rest of the villagers?’
‘We always honour your presence with as many as we can,’ Yamaguchi answered.
‘Do not patronize me, old man.’
Shigemasa addressed his samurai: ‘Find the rest of the women and children!’
Dozens of samurai dismounted from their horses and advanced on the villagers’ homes. They kicked down doors and punched holes through walls. Once inside, the samurai extended even less respect as they ransacked entire homes, breaking possessions, scattering belongings, even lifting floorboards in search of concealed villagers.
‘Daimyo Shigemasa, I do not think this is necessary,’ Yamaguchi protested.
‘Shut up, old man. I will deal with you in a moment.’
Amid the crashing and destruction, Yamaguchi heard women and children screaming. Soon, several samurai appeared, dragging the women by their hair, with their terrified children following and sobbing.
‘You deceived me, old man,’ Shigemasa roared as he dismounted. ‘Keep looking,’ he ordered. ‘I am sure there are more!’
Several young samurai smashed through more homes, ripping doors off their hinges and demolishing the houses’ meagre contents. In one home they ripped up the shack’s flooring and discovered the foreign catechists Tonia and Miguel.
‘Lord Shigemasa, we found gaijin!’ Several samurai shoved Tonia and Miguel ahead of them.
To discover a Japanese Christian was a triumph, but to uncover two foreign Christians was an astonishing find for the Daimyo. Although the Shogun would be angry over their continued presence, he would be pleased at their capture.
As villagers watched in horror, samurai beat the catechists with a flurry of savage kicks and punches.
‘Let me see these Christian dogs!’ Shigemasa yelled. He jumped down from his horse and pushed his way through the samurai.
‘This is unbelievable,’ Shigemasa declared. He approached the two beaten catechists lying on the ground. Yamaguchi looked on with a pained stare.
Turning to his second-in-command, Shigemasa said, ‘Tear down this village. I want every inch of it searched. No one escapes!’
The villagers wailed. The soldiers set about systematically demolishing the buildings and yanking outside anyone in hiding. The villagers cried as the samurai destroyed their few possessions. The soldiers tore buildings from their foundations, broke narrow wooden beams, and ripped apart roof thatching.
It did not take long for a group of samurai to descend on the dishevelled hut where Father Joaquim’s tiny room lay hidden. The samurai tore at the outer walls of the structure with their knives and hands. Inside, they
found the priest, defenceless and hiding under the flooring beneath his bed, doing his best to avoid detection. They beat and kicked him until he lay still, curled in a ball on the ground. Then they yanked him to his feet.
A samurai pushed his way through the crowd, dragging the priest until they reached the Daimyo. ‘Lord Shigemasa, I have discovered another gaijin. This one looks like a priest!’
‘Bring the entire village to me,’ Shigemasa roared.
Minutes later, with everyone assembled, the Daimyo announced, ‘This village is no more. You have all deceived me.’
Shigemasa pivoted and walked over to Master Yamaguchi, who stood before him. ‘And you, old man, you have deceived me for the last time. Your disrespect is the greatest of all!’
Shigemasa drew his katana and swung it through Yamaguchi’s neck, severing it. A trail of gore spilled from the wound, baptizing the wretched soil. Red. Relentless. Until the pulsing of his heart stopped. The old man’s head rolled into the field.
Joaquim was not able to see much through the blood and bruising on his face and his swelling black eyes, but he heard the wailing and sobbing of the villagers. Unable to control himself, Joaquim struggled to his feet. ‘What have you done?!’
Several samurai pounded him to the ground. As he lay in the dirt, a half-dozen more samurai stood over him and recommenced punching and kicking him while shouting obscenities. Despite the thrashing, the priest managed to cry out, ‘He was a peaceful man.’
‘Silence!’ The Daimyo turned his head, making eye contact with several villagers who immediately looked away in shame. ‘You are all under arrest for breaking the Shogun’s anti-Christian laws.’ He turned again to his second-in-command. ‘Burn the village.’
Dark smoke and flames soon filled the sky as the villagers were rounded up. They wailed and cried and were beaten for their misery, tied to long bamboo poles, and dragged up the mountainside. Amid the flames of the burning village behind them, the villagers looked back to see Master Yamaguchi’s decapitated body burn with their village.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
18 June 1626
Shogun’s Castle
When Masayoshi took part in his first torture as a member of a class, he vomited. His superiors immediately forced him to clean it up. The first lesson of his new profession had been, control your stomach. It took many more months for his soul to became calloused enough to endure the smells, the pleading, the screams, and the crying. After two years as one of the Shogun’s torturers, he’d learned to separate himself from his work. When he was here he was detached, someone else.