by Shaun Curry
‘I have prayed every night since our capture. Yet still they persecute us. And it is only getting worse!’
‘Give the Lord a chance to respond, Miguel.’
‘He has had plenty of time.’
‘The Lord will respond in His time, Miguel, not yours. Never lose faith. God will answer us.’ He embraced the young catechist. ‘God’s Spirit lives inside you. When you have genuine faith, when you feel it, He will know.’
‘It no longer matters. We are dead men.’
‘That’s not true. Miguel. It does matter, because one day it could save you.’
* * *
25 June 1626
Rats scurried near the top of the prison hole while the two young catechists appeared to doze on their feet. Father Joaquim heard voices above, not far away. The priest listened carefully, focusing his attention.
‘Keep these mutts locked in their cages while I’m away,’ Shigemasa ordered. ‘I’ll be back before sunset tomorrow.’
‘Yes, Daimyo,’ Joaquim heard Matsumoto answer. ‘I will not open the door even to feed them.’
‘And keep the lid on the pit. I don’t want the padre or his aides to see daylight.’
‘The lid will remain locked until you return, Lord. The only contact with the priest and his aides will be my men urinating on them,’ Matsumoto boasted.
Father Joaquim heard the hoof beats of Shigemasa’s horses moving away.
‘Come,’ the priest then heard the prison master say, ‘let’s give the mutts an early morning shower.’
Joaquim prayed as he anticipated Miguel’s reaction to the abuse they were about to suffer.
The laughter from Matsumoto and his guards aroused the dozing catechists just in time to look up into the streams of urine raining down on them from their tormentors.
‘Damn you, you heartless bastards!’ Miguel yelled. He cursed under his breath, grimaced, and pinched his lips together.
But his words only encouraged the chortling guards.
‘Have no worries, Miguel. Our torments will end.’
‘When, Father? When will they end?’
‘Soon, Miguel. The Lord will wash us clean.’
‘How can men treat other humans like this?’ Tonia shook the waste from her hair.
‘Try to feel pity for them, Tonia,’ Joaquim said, as he wiped her face.
‘I want to kill them,’ Miguel yelled in a sudden outburst. He wrinkled his nose and flinched as he tried to shake his body to clean himself.
Tonia reached out and placed her hand on Miguel’s shoulders to console him.
‘Mind your emotions, Miguel,’ Father Joaquim said. ‘Anger is self-destructive. Focus on love. Love your enemy as the Lord loves us.’
‘These men should pay for their inhumanity!’ Miguel shouted.
‘It is not your job to carry out vengeance, Miguel. Focus on our freedom, and we will have it.’
* * *
As the sun set, a gathering wind signalled the approach of rain. One of the prison guards spotted a grey-haired man in his sixties with the bearing and gait of a samurai approaching the prison from a nearby field. As he reached the bottom of the hill, several other guards intercepted him. The old man was carrying a small box.
Despite his age, the old man appeared strong, and his weathered face suggested he spent most of his time outdoors. As he neared the guards, he smiled.
Noticing the crest of Daimyo Shigemasa on the man’s shoulder, the guards bowed to him. ‘Welcome,’ the senior guard said, acknowledging the samurai’s allegiance. ‘What brings you to Omura Prison?’
‘I am here to present a gift to the prison master and all the guards on behalf of Lord Shigemasa.’
‘We are honoured,’ the senior guard answered. ‘What do you have for us?’
‘It is Lord Shigemasa’s finest imported tea. He hopes you will all partake of it tonight. He recommended it as it will keep you awake to look after his Christian dogs.’
‘Looking after the Lord’s dogs is a pleasure and it is an honour to receive this gift. Please, profess our deepest gratitude to Lord Shigemasa.’
‘I will. And thank you for looking after these mutts.’
* * *
In their cramped hole in the ground, the steady rain seeped through the cracks in the lid to the hole that covered Father Joaquim and the catechists. It wasn’t enough to wash away the waste the guards had covered them with, but just enough to give them chills.
‘It’s quiet tonight,’ Tonia said. ‘Nothing like last night.’
Joaquim concentrated on subtle sounds above ground. ‘Shhhh,’ he insisted. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘It must be a guard,’ Tonia whispered.
‘No, it’s not a guard. This is something else.’
‘Look!’ A bright blue flame glinted through the cracks in the slab.
‘What’s that?’ Miguel asked, appearing fearful.
‘I don’t know,’ Joaquim answered, bewildered by the light.
There was a strange, almost alcoholic tang in the air, mixed with something indefinable, as the mysterious blue flame burned quickly through the wood, despite the heavy rain.
Soon, the lid popped off and the silhouette of a man hovered above the pit. Heavy rain continued to pour down as the filth washed from the three surprised prisoners.
The end of a short, knotted rope dropped into the hole beside them.
‘Who are you?’ Tonia broke the silence.
‘My pupils call me Master Watanabe. Hurry, take the rope.’
‘Do it,’ Father Joaquim told Tonia. ‘You go first.’
Master Watanabe hauled Tonia out of the pit in a matter of seconds, before tossing the end of the rope back in.
‘Who’s next?’ Master Watanabe asked.
‘Miguel. Quick, grab the rope.’
Miguel did as he was told. A few minutes later Joaquim stood under a starlit night, breathing the sweetness of fresh air.
‘Where are the guards?’ Miguel asked. He cast fearful looks around.
‘Resting,’ the old man said with a hint of a smile.
‘Who are you?’ Joaquim asked him.
‘The man helping you to escape. We don’t have much time.’
‘I cannot leave the others.’ Joaquim looked towards the main prison building, which housed the rest of the village men.
‘We are almost out of time, Father. We must go. You will save them later, but not now.’
‘Why should we trust you?’
‘Do you have a better option?’
‘Fine,’ Joaquim agreed. He sighed and breathed heavily. ‘But this is only temporary. I will not abandon the others.’
‘Agreed,’ Master Watanabe nodded. ‘But for now, let’s go – quickly!’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
26 June 1626
Matsumoto awoke to the squalling sound of cats fighting outside his window. He shook his groggy head several times. Panic welled up inside as he tried to remember – something, anything . . . his name, where he was. Shaking his head a few more times, he recalled, I am Yuzuru Matsumoto. I am the master of Omura Prison. He took a few steps to his bedroom door and walked outside. The guard stationed outside his door was on the floor, unconscious. Matsumoto kicked the guard, and the man woke up. All of a sudden, Matsumoto remembered the prisoners Daimyo Shigemasa had left under his watch.
He rushed to the main prison building, where he inspected the sealed lock, then entered. The prisoners were all still inside. He breathed a sigh of relief.
Then he remembered the pit and dashed over to it. To his horror, the pit was empty. Panic set in as he cursed and ran to the guardhouse. Opening the door, he burst inside and yelled, ‘Wake up! Wake up, you imbeciles! The Christian foreigners have escaped!’
Like the prison master, the guards were groggy and confused.
‘Get up.’ Matsumoto’s body shook as he paced around the guard house. ‘The Christian priest and his aides have escaped!’
‘What happened?’ the most
senior guard asked. He stepped forward, shaking his head just as Matsumoto had done when he’d awoken.
‘Drugged, poisoned . . . I don’t know, but it all started with that tea!’
‘But that was a gift from Daimyo Shigemasa,’ the senior guard answered.
‘It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that we find the missing prisoners before the Daimyo returns! I want the six strongest and fastest men to gather arms and head for the forest at once.’
‘Yes, Master. Why the forest?’
Matsumoto rolled his eyes. ‘Use your head. They’re foreigners and fugitives. They must run to the forest to avoid detection.’
‘Yes, Master, you’re right, of course. I am sorry.’
‘Bring them back alive,’ Matsumoto ordered. ‘The Daimyo will be furious if we return them dead.’
‘Yes, Master, but what if it is not possible to return them alive?’
‘Then kill them. It is better to return them dead than not at all. Go, and find them right away! They are tired and ill, so it should not take you too long. Remember, the Daimyo will return before sunset, so make sure you bring the dogs back before then.’
* * *
Matsumoto surprised Shigemasa as he walked down the path to meet him.
‘Welcome back, Lord Shigemasa,’ the prison master said, bowing to the Daimyo and his samurai.
‘How are my prisoners?’
Matsumoto paused. Then he said, ‘We have a problem.’
Shigemasa dismounted. ‘What problem?’ He glared at Matsumoto.
‘Our Japanese prisoners are still incarcerated, but the foreign priest and his aides are missing.’
Shigemasa exploded in fury. Without a word, he punched Matsumoto in the face, driving him to the ground, where he delivered a ferocious kick to his chest.
‘We’ll get them back,’ Matsumoto struggled to say, crawling away.
‘Get up!’ the Daimyo ordered. ‘Take me to the pit. I want to see what happened!’
Matsumoto rose to his feet and scurried up the hill, with Shigemasa and his samurai following.
‘Look,’ Shigemasa exclaimed when they arrived at the pit. ‘The lock is intact!’
‘Yes, Lord, I know.’
‘Then how did they get out?’
‘See. They burned through a plank – making just enough space to slip out.’
‘You’re telling me three half-naked captives standing in rain and filth managed to set fire to a wet wooden lid nine feet above them? Do you mock me?’
‘No, Lord.’ Matsumoto looked down in shame.
‘It was your tea, Lord,’ said the senior guard, standing nearby.
‘My tea?’
‘Yesterday, your retainer delivered us a gift of English tea.’
‘My retainer?’
‘Yes, Lord. He wore your crest on his shoulder and knew about the Christian dogs. He offered us an entire box to keep us awake.’
‘Do you dare play with me on such important matters?’
‘No, Lord, I swear it’s the truth,’ the senior guard replied.
‘So, a mysterious retainer I know nothing about offered you English tea to keep you awake – yet you all fell asleep? And while you were sleeping, three half-naked Christians at the bottom of a cesspit escaped with no one noticing.’
Afraid to look Shigemasa in the eye, Matsumoto nodded but remained silent.
‘Stand over there.’ Shigemasa pointed to a spot next to the pit.
Trembling, Matsumoto did as he was ordered.
Shigemasa turned to scan the row of prison guards, each of whom stared studiously straight ahead, before he turned back to face Matsumoto.
‘Never in my life have I witnessed such incompetence. You are too stupid or too disobedient to go on living!’
With a sudden twist of his body, the Daimyo drew his long sword and plunged it into Matsumoto’s stomach.
Matsumoto fell slowly to his knees. Shigemasa stared into the prison master’s eyes, withdrew his sword, then severed Matsumoto’s head, sending it rolling towards the pit. Shigemasa kicked it, and it splashed into the waste at the bottom. Then, with another powerful kick, he shoved Matsumoto’s body down after it.
The Daimyo pointed at the senior prison guard. ‘You’re next. Come here.’
The terrified senior guard stayed rooted to the spot. Two powerful samurai grabbed his arms and dragged him towards Shigemasa, who still stood at the edge of the pit.
‘No! No! It’s not my fau—’ Shigemasa drove his sword into the man’s chest. As the two samurai released his arms Shigemasa decapitated the guard.
‘Never mock your lord.’ Wiping the blood spatter off his face and hands, Shigemasa kicked the senior guard’s head and body into the pit, before spitting after him in contempt. ‘These men have jeopardized my lands and do not deserve to live!’ Shigemasa shouted. ‘Now, we must catch those wild dogs.’
‘What about the rest of the guards?’ a samurai asked. ‘Shall we also throw them into the pit?’
The Daimyo thought for a moment.
‘No, throw them into the prison with the inmates. We might have questions for them later, if they survive.’
‘And who will run the prison, Lord?’ a retainer asked.
‘We will.’
As they walked towards the guardhouse, Shigemasa spoke to his samurai. ‘The Nagasaki magistrate sent a letter to the Shogun informing him we have a gift of twenty-one Christians for him to slay, including a foreign Christian priest. What will the Shogun say when we arrive with only eighteen and no priest?’
‘I don’t know, Lord. Perhaps it will upset him,’ a retainer replied.
‘Upset? He will be furious. He could take my lands. I will be a peasant!’
‘What is our plan, Lord? We must decide at once.’
‘We will mobilize every samurai at my disposal.’
‘All three thousand?’
‘Yes. We will scour every piece of land and forest until we capture them. Our soldiers will use horses to outrun them.’
‘Don’t worry, Lord. Our samurai will find them,’ the retainer assured him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
26 June 1626
‘I need to rest,’ Tonia said.
‘Rest will come,’ Master Watanabe replied. ‘Do you see that small hill?’
‘Yes,’ Tonia nodded.
‘Underneath, there’s a cave where we can rest. So, please, we must continue.’
Pushing themselves, the group continued for another mile, until they arrived at the base of the hill where Watanabe pointed out a small, hidden cave.
As they entered, Tonia fell to the floor, exhausted. Miguel, lay down next to her. They were both asleep in minutes.
Father Joaquim sat against the cave wall. ‘Now I must ask, Master Watanabe: Who are you, and what is going on?’
Watanabe sat across from Joaquim. ‘I am an old friend of Master Yamaguchi. And, like Yamaguchi-san, over the years I have learned to listen to the still, small voice inside when it speaks. The voice told me something terrible had happened to my old friend and his village. When I arrived I found his head, the charred remains of his body, the houses burned to the ground, and the village deserted.
‘For the entire day, I prayed, and then that little voice told me to make my way to Omura Prison – and to take Master Yamaguchi’s sword. I have learned that miraculous things happen when I obey that voice. It has saved my life more than once, so I listen now.’
‘Where did you find his sword?’ asked the priest.
‘In his home, by the front door, uncharred by the fire,’ answered Master Watanabe. ‘It felt like he left it there for me.’
Captivated by the sword and intrigued by the mysterious man before him, Joaquim felt both confused and in awe. As he pondered a myriad of thoughts at the same time, he wondered about this man who had risked himself for them and rescued Yamaguchi-san’s sword. The thought of Yamaguchi brought back fond memories of his friend and sensei.
‘Perhaps
, Father, we too should sleep now,’ the old man said, noticing the priest’s eyes flutter.
Joaquim shook his head trying to shake himself awake. But he was as exhausted as his catechists. ‘What’s your plan?’
‘To continue our retreat and regroup in a place of safety.’
‘Where?’
‘The Goto Islands. They are not far, and some of them are sanctuaries for Christians.’
‘What will we do there?’
‘Plan the rescue of your villagers.’
‘Good,’ Joaquim replied. ‘Do you think a large force is hunting us?’
‘Yes, Father. A very large one.’
* * *
28 June 1626
Hizen Province, Kyushu
Lord Shigemasa’s plan to recapture the escapees was simple: the city and prefecture were on the south-west part of the island, with water on three sides. The only logical escape route was to head north-east following the direction of the land. Based on Nagasaki’s density and the number of officials in and around the city, Shigemasa determined that Father Joaquim would not head south. He and his retainers calculated how far Father Joaquim and the two catechists could have travelled given the time available to them, and thus established a perimeter based on their expected distance from Omura Prison.
He then dispatched horsemen to the edges of the grid to sweep inward until they either captured their prey or forced them into the arms of Shigemasa’s foot soldiers coming up from the south.
* * *
At the far northern end of Shigemasa’s search grid, peasants in a small village were labouring in the hot afternoon sun when the thunder of hooves and the rattle of armour interrupted their quiet toil. A regiment of a hundred samurai approached the rice fields. Back when the authorities tolerated Christianity and allowed priests to travel at liberty throughout the land, Father Joaquim had ministered to this village on several occasions.
The samurai Chikayoshi, a large, heavy-set man with a battle-scarred face that attested to a long military background, sat atop a massive black stallion, examining the village. He wore the armour and colours of his master Daimyo Shigemasa, a lacquered metal breastplate overlaid with layers of protective metal plates. Motivated by the warlord’s promise of generous rewards, and by his orders, Chikayoshi eased himself into the saddle and furrowed his brow. He was determined to be the one to find the escaped Christians. Motioning towards the village, Chikayoshi and his men moved forward.