Yasuke: In Search of the African Samurai

by Thomas Lockley

  There was no word yet on the seminary or the Jesuits in Azuchi. If they’d been killed also, it was only a matter of time until the Akechi rebels came for them in Kyoto. All they could do now was wait and pray.

  * * *

  Several days later, a ragged bunch of footsore refugees from the Azuchi seminary staggered into the Kyoto mission. They were headed by Father Organtino himself but escorted by a dozen Akechi soldiers. Organtino brought a more definitive narrative of the events at Azuchi, far more detailed than the ever-contradictory rumors which swirled around Kyoto.

  When word of Akechi’s coup came, the students and staff, around thirty in all, had narrowly escaped the attack on Azuchi by fleeing just ahead of the advancing enemy by boat to hide on tiny Oki Island in the middle of Lake Biwa. They’d not been alone; the garrison and townspeople had also fled wherever they could. Lord Gamō, the warden of the castle, had, it seemed, not given up after all. He’d rather weighed up his duty to fight to the last in defense of the castle, and his duty to protect Nobunaga’s family (mother, wife, sister, kids and concubines). Father Organtino didn’t know for sure, but thought it likely they’d escaped to Gamō’s smaller and more easily defended Hino Castle fifteen miles away.

  Although the Jesuits had first managed to save many of the irreplaceable articles in the seminary—their candelabras, a gilt crucifix, several devotional images, some textbooks and the more portable of the musical instruments—the boatman who took the Jesuit party to safety on Oki Island had then, cruelly, robbed them. They’d been left with nothing, starving and stranded on the small island with no way of escape.

  Soon after, however, Akechi’s men arrived on the island, “rescuing” the Jesuits and taking them back to shore farther down Lake Biwa. The Jesuits expected to be executed, crucified or set afire, the latest Christian martyrs. Instead, to Organtino’s astonishment, he was brought before Akechi himself at Sakamoto Castle and solicited to use Jesuit influence with Takayama Ukon to persuade the powerful warlord to support Akechi’s coup. For without Takayama’s backing—military, pecuniary and political—the overthrow wouldn’t last long. Akechi, alone, did not have enough samurai or regular troops, and he needed support from other senior Oda vassals to solidify his position and swell his ranks.

  Organtino had little choice. His and his students’ lives were unmistakably in jeopardy. At once, he sent a formal letter in Japanese to Takayama through Akechi’s messenger, recommending that—for the sake of the church—Takayama support Akechi’s revolution. However, Organtino also managed to slip in another message, in Portuguese, which only Takayama could read. The secret message suggested Lord Takayama follow his conscience, supplanting any recommendation received in the Japanese missive.

  In return for his perceived cooperation, Father Organtino and the Jesuits were given safe conduct back to Kyoto by Akechi’s men.

  For days, Yasuke had suspected why he’d been spared when all his comrades were killed. Now he’d confirmed it. Akechi’s mercy had been one of several gestures of goodwill to the Jesuits to secure their support and influence with Takayama.

  But Takayama and the Jesuits were only a small part of a much bigger picture. Akechi—it was whispered throughout Kyoto—had made little progress with the emperor, despite a generous donation of silver. Nor with the other warlords throughout Japan. Even his own son-in-law, Hosokawa, refused to join him; the stain of his treachery was too great. Nobunaga had indeed been loved, if also feared, by most who knew and served him. Yasuke was not alone.

  And, Tokugawa Ieyasu (who’d traveled to Fuji with Yasuke and Nobunaga), perhaps the most powerful player still on the board and the man whose military and moral support could make or break Akechi, was on a jaunt to Sakai where Nobunaga had sent him to express gratitude for his support and hospitality. When the coup occurred, Tokugawa was isolated from his fief, and armies, in the east and vulnerable to coercion should Akechi catch him. Tokugawa knew only one way to make it home alive and retain his independence. He renewed an old acquaintance by hiring the infamous ninja leader, Hattori Hanzō—a man who only the year before had led the resistance against Nobunaga in Iga—to smuggle him through the Akechi forces who sought him. The long route they took passed through the ruined province of Iga but the ninja held his side of the bargain and managed to keep Tokugawa safe. At one point, the boat Tokugawa was hiding in under a cargo of rice was speared by an Akechi patrol hunting for him. The spear caught him in the leg, but Ieyasu was (or, so it’s told) quick thinking enough to wipe his blood from the steel before the Akechi man retrieved his blade. Within a few days of the coup, Tokugawa had made it back to his home province of Mikawa alive but, one of his senior vassals, Anayama Baisetsu, who had been ordered to take a different route so as to confuse the enemy, was not so lucky. He was caught and executed.

  Nobunaga’s iron grip had brought peace to the capital and its surroundings, the first real peace for one hundred years. Across Japan, Akechi’s coup was not embraced or popular. Instead, everyone simply waited for what came next.

  * * *

  Just over a week later, in early July, Yasuke and the Jesuits received word that Akechi Mitsuhide was dead.

  General Hideyoshi—more than one hundred miles away from Kyoto and still embroiled in a fight against the Mori clan—had been assumed to be unable to take part in toppling the usurper; Akechi figured he could deal with him later. But, a messenger from Akechi to Lord Mori proposing an alliance—sent before Nobunaga’s death—had been intercepted by Hideyoshi’s men only a day after the coup. Hideyoshi reacted quickly, first offering the commander of the besieged Mori castle, Shimizu Muneharu, generous surrender terms, which allowed his family and the defenders to keep their lives in exchange for Shimizu’s immediate seppuku. Shimizu, who had no idea yet about the coup in Kyoto, accepted, and duly sacrificed himself in full view of both armies on a boat in the middle of the artificial lake Hideyoshi had built to surround the castle. The castle now taken, Hideyoshi marched his army—some thirty thousand men—covering an impressive twenty-five miles per day, to meet Akechi, before most of Japan had even gotten word of the coup.

  The siege of Takamatsu, where Hideyoshi used extensive earthworks to change the course of a river and turn the castle into an island.

  Meanwhile, Takayama had followed Father Organtino’s Portuguese message, and his conscience, and brought his own three thousand men to join the anti-Akechi forces forming under Hideyoshi’s leadership. The two lords marched together on Yamazaki, a village just outside of Kyoto. Here, Akechi, realizing his attempt at a truce had failed, prepared to make his last stand against the combined Oda forces, taking up a defensive position behind the Enmyoji River. Akechi’s forces had declined to fewer than ten thousand, dwindling by the day as his position weakened. Those lords he’d counted on to join his efforts had declined the invitation and most were now formed up against him. Hideyoshi and his allies arrived on the field with up to forty thousand men. Akechi knew he was doomed.

  The very first night, Hideyoshi sent hired mercenary ninja across the river to set fire to the Akechi camp, spreading chaos, confusion and dread among the defenders. He, also under the cover of night, sent a force of musketeers to control the high ground before the battle had even begun. The next morning, Hideyoshi and his allies’ troops routed the Akechi army in under two hours. Akechi’s troops died in the thousands along the river and in Shōryūji Castle, Akechi’s headquarters, where many had retreated. Others fled. Akechi himself managed to escape the battle too, no honorable suicide for him, and attempted to flee to Sakamoto Castle, his main fief and final stronghold. He didn’t get far.

  As Akechi sneaked through a bamboo grove on the outskirts of Ogurusu, a tiny village, he was speared by a common bandit with a simple bamboo spear. He died in a muddy ditch. A mighty comedown for one who’d gambled that he could take the entire realm, and a fitting end for the traitor.

  Akechi had “ruled” Japan for thirteen
days.

  * * *

  Now that General Hideyoshi had broken the coup, Yasuke waited in vain for a message from any of the remaining Oda sons or Nobunaga’s former vassals. None came. Weeks passed, then months. The others were all too preoccupied with the chaos that had engulfed their own lives. For Yasuke was not the only one who now found himself in a precarious position, in fear for his life. Every man who’d served Nobunaga was now unsure of his future.

  In July of 1582, a conference of leading Oda retainers was called in Kiyosu, the original stronghold of the clan, to discuss the succession. The course was not clear. Nobunaga’s assumed heir, Nobutada, was also dead. No consensus could be reached over which of the several surviving Oda brothers should succeed. Yasuke assumed that Nobunaga’s second son, Nobukatsu, would automatically take his father’s place, but his rash nature did not endear him to some of the senior advisors present, most of whom preferred the third son Nobutaka.

  Instead, Hideyoshi in a masterstroke which nobody else had thought of, proposed Nobutada’s infant son (Nobunaga’s grandson!) as the immediate heir. Who would dare argue with such direct and legitimate lineage—the firstborn heir’s heir? Hidenobu, all of two years old, became Oda clan head, thereby ensuring Hideyoshi was the real power in the clan.

  * * *

  Technically, Yasuke remained a samurai.

  But, one without a master, a ronin. He needed to find a new lord to serve or find a different path. He was eager to serve under Hideyoshi, a general he’d always respected. However, Hideyoshi had his own loyal men to promote, and most of the Oda samurai did not figure in his plans; even the new infant clan head was only a puppet to give initial legitimacy to his rule.

  Hideyoshi never did call for Yasuke. Nor did anyone else.

  The Jesuits didn’t really know what to do with him either.

  If anything, with Hideyoshi’s new men in ascendance, Yasuke’s close association with the Oda became something of a liability. Yasuke was a potential embarrassment to Jesuit relations with the new regime and needed to be moved out of the way so as not draw unwanted attention during the uncertain times.

  For the next few months of 1582, Yasuke remained a virtual prisoner in the church compound. The curious in Kyoto still tried getting a peek at Nobunaga’s “black man” but the Jesuits tried to play it down. Yasuke spent most of his days inside. Sweeping, doing odd jobs, helping to prepare food. It was maddening; after being at the center of the realm’s affairs, he was confined within the four tall mission walls.

  The answer, finally, was to remove Yasuke entirely from Kyoto, from the theatre of war and politics. It’s likely he accompanied one of the regular Jesuit groups on their travels between their capital mission and the Jesuit stronghold in Nagasaki. With them, Yasuke would have retraced the steps of years before: through Osaka, Sakai and the pirate-infested Seto Inland Sea to find himself back in a further-developed Nagasaki, now surrounded with formidable stone walls, bristling with cannon and manned by the citizen militia.

  * * *

  A year passed. News from central Japan revealed that Hideyoshi was cementing his grip on power. Those Oda clan members who’d been dissatisfied with Hideyoshi’s power grab, were picked off one by one, killed in battle or forced to perform seppuku. Nobutaka, the third son, cut his own belly, leaving behind a vengeful death poem:

  You have caused the downfall of your rightful lord,

  May you get your just deserts, Hideyoshi.

  Yasuke was back to military life, spending his time in Nagasaki on garrison duty, cleaning and maintaining the guns, training new gunners, wearing down the whetstone as he continually sharpened his weapons, and watching for enemies who hadn’t come yet, but were getting closer every day.

  War, as always, brewed in all the regions bordering Nagasaki.

  From the south, the Satsuma clan had managed to dominate nearly half the island, and to the north, Ryūzōji Takanobu (Arima and Ōmura’s old Catholic-hating foe) regularly made incursions into the Christian lands that formed Nagasaki’s hinterland. (Ōmura had essentially submitted to Ryūzōji’s domination and most of Arima was also now in his hands.) Lord Arima, the teen warlord, had barely been holding out against Ryūzōji’s offensives ever since he’d welcomed Valignano and Yasuke to Japan three years before. Even with Jesuit aid—in the form of funds, weaponry, lead and gunpowder—it was never enough. Arima was no closer to reclaiming the lost portions of his domain than when Yasuke had first arrived. And the young lord was desperate. Ryūzōji, it seemed, only grew stronger with each passing year.

  In 1582, with Nobunaga dead and Japan appearing to be heading into another hundred years of civil war, Arima had decided to play a lesser evil against the greater and submitted to Satsuma overlordship in exchange for an expeditionary force to help reclaim his lands from Ryūzōji. At least then, he and his people would know peace and be allowed to practice their Catholic faith. (Though the Satsuma were not known for their pro-Christian sentiments, they, at least, tolerated the religion, whereas Ryūzōji did not.) The Satsuma clan took their time arriving, more than a year, but eventually brought more than eight thousand men to fight beside Arima’s remaining forces.

  Together, in December 1583, the new allies advanced to the town of Shimabara, one of the most important settlements in the Arima domain, long since taken by Ryūzōji. There, they attempted a siege of the garrison. The entire operation, however, was a mess. Ryūzōji’s men held out against overwhelming numbers and dispatched to their lord for help. In response, Ryūzōji assembled a huge force of twenty-five thousand and set out overland to relieve his beleaguered garrison. By now, it was the spring of 1584. No one had expected a force of that size to be sent by a minor regional lord. And they were not only superior in numbers, but also had managed to acquire five hundred muskets, a massive number for regional warfare.

  According to Fróis, Ryūzōji vowed, “the first thing he would do for fun after returning victoriously from the battlefield, was to order the crucifixion of the new mission superior, Gaspar Coelho,” who had taken over from the hapless Cabral in 1581, and “give the port of Nagasaki to his soldiers to be sacked and destroyed as a reward for their trouble.” The direct threat to destroy Nagasaki and the Jesuits was no idle banter. Ryūzōji had threatened this for years and his shadow had long loomed large over the mission. Now was his best shot at its destruction once and for all. No doubt, Yasuke himself would not fare much better than Coelho when Ryūzōji’s forces eventually arrived. Ryūzōji’s hatred for Coelho was well earned.

  Coelho was a thin, small, weak and cunning man in his midfifties, and his provocative behavior would soon lead the Jesuits to many of their problems in the years ahead. The new mission superior had for long been the biggest advocate of destroying temples and shrines, to the extent that he even involved children in his plans, inciting whole families to go on Buddhist-destroying day trips, setting fires wherever they found signs of the infidel. Those who would not convert were expelled from Jesuit-influenced lands and monks who refused to become Christian forfeited their lives. Ryūzōji was not impressed.

  As far as the Jesuits were concerned, they were staring the end of their mission in the face. Without Nagasaki, and with all their key personnel dead, the mission would find it hard to even survive, let alone spread. So when Arima once again turned to the Jesuits for help against Ryūzōji, they were only too happy to oblige. The alternative was likely the end of Catholicism in Japan. Their involvement effectively meant they would also have to bend their knee and accept Satsuma vassalage, but even that was better than extinction. (And, perhaps God, in his greatness, would intervene and soon convert the heathen Satsuma clan to the one true faith.)

  The Jesuits put all of their limited military resources into supporting one of their oldest allies. They sent to Arima their private war galley, with three hundred, almost all, of their Catholic militia aboard, crucial supplies of gunpowder and lead, food and more guns
.

  And Yasuke.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Guns of Okitanawate

  Yasuke was sent to the Arima camp specifically to handle the two new cannon which the Jesuits had delivered to their allies. These guns were the very same kunizukushi, “nation destroyers,” Valignano had offered to Arima all those years ago to help him find his faith.

  The order had taken more than a year to get to Goa, several more to process, and another year to get back. Arima was just now receiving the cannon and no one in the Arima camp yet knew how to use them. These two bronze cannon, nearly nine feet long and of 3.7 inch caliber were the breech-loading type, relatively rare in an age where muzzle loaders were more common, and virtually unknown in Japan. Breech loaders were quicker to reload (at the rear of the cannon) and several charges could be prepared in advance, giving a near-continuous rate of fire of cannonballs or grapeshot if handled correctly.

  Despite the high rate of fire, the relatively primitive nature of foundry technology meant that a tight fit for the breech was impossible, and the weapons lost a lot of power when fired. Hence they were little use against fortifications and ships, but quite deadly at close ranges against humans, and could reduce unprotected armies to bloody piles of cadavers far quicker than the slower, but more powerful, muzzle loaders. The two new guns were also mounted on swivels and could be aimed very quickly. Muzzle-loading cannon, meanwhile, normally had to be mounted on wheels or immovable breastworks and took a lot of effort, men and time to move.