1636: Seas of Fortune (33 page)

Edo (Tokyo), Japan

The guardsman approached. “There is no one else in the garden, my lord.”

“No one?”

“No one, anymore, I mean. We chased out a pair of lovers.”

“Very good. Post a guard at the entrance of the garden. Allow no one to enter, save for the one who presents the token I told you about.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

The lord, wearing a large hat that shadowed his face, looked up at the moon. “It is a pity that it lacks a handle. On an evening this sultry, I would like a silver fan with which to cool myself.” It was an allusion to one of Yamazaki Sokan’s verses, written a century earlier.

His cloaked companion smiled. “We
are
in a garden. You could break off a stick of bamboo, and use that.”

They stood in silence for a few moments.

“The
kirishitan
are a great threat to Japan, and to the
Bakufu
.”

“I heartily agree with Your Excellency.”

“Suppose that the
kirishitan
have devised a devilish scheme.”

“What sort of scheme?”

“To set up gunpowder mines all over Edo. Then, on a windy night, light the fuses, and burn down the city. The shogun would die, as would all of his councillors, and those of the daimyo that were in attendance upon him. The emperor, in Kyoto, would be taken captive, and he would become a Portuguese puppet.”

“How horrible! You have found evidence of such a plan?”

“Alas, no. Hence, for the good of the realm, we must . . . create . . . such evidence. Before the dreadful event can in fact occur. Give the shogun reason to rethink his policy once again. Think of it as a
kabuki
play, in which the characters suddenly step off the stage and walk among the audience.”

His manner became abrupt. “It should be simple enough for you to obtain the gunpowder. Inside the barrels, place Christian symbols. Then all that is needed is an anonymous tip to the police, before the explosion can be triggered, and soon thereafter . . . the vicious
kirishitan
conspiracy is unveiled.” He smiled thinly. “And of course, I will be promoted for unveiling it. Perhaps even to the
Roju
.”

His spymaster raised an eyebrow. “Planting the gunpowder will not be too difficult. However, the problem is that the conspiracy will be faceless. The Great Lord will want
kirishitan
to confess to the crime and be punished appropriately.” In Japan, where most buildings were of wood construction, the penalty for arson was to be burnt alive.

“Every few months, we find a few more cowering
kirishitan
. If we ask them . . . vigorously . . . enough, they will admit that they were involved. Problem solved.”

“Indeed. But wait. I have spies among the
kirishitan
. They wait for the opportunity to catch a big prize, a Spanish or Portuguese padre. But suppose I have one of them try to recruit a few fools to become part of the ‘conspiracy’?”

“Ah, I see. They will be sent somewhere to await the explosion . . . with the explanation that once it occurs, they are to seize what is left of the castle . . . the police will arrest them, and they will think they were part of a
real
conspiracy.”

“My Lord is most perceptive.”

“But what if no one volunteers?”

“They will still remember the visit of the recruiter. And they can confess
that
to the inquisitor.”

“Excellent. Now let’s discuss where and when.”

* * *

Kodama Katsuo would live to see another sunrise. Katsuo wished he could one day tell his grandchildren that his survival had been the result of his wisdom, or his keen senses, or his swordmanship. In truth, it was because he didn’t snore.

Lying under a bush, so that the light of the full moon would not disturb his beauty rest, he had heard the entire plot. He had remained as still as possible, his breath slow and shallow and above all, silent.

He had heard the lord and his spymaster leave. He hadn’t seen their faces, but he didn’t have to. He had seen the
mon
, the family crest, on the sleeves and back of the guards’
haori
. And the voice was one he recognized from the time that he had been samurai, not ronin. It was that of Inoue Masashige. As one of the sixteen
metsuke
, the “inspectors” of the Tokugawa intelligence service, he had decided that Katsuo’s former master was untrustworthy, and persuaded the shogun to cut his estate in half. Which in turn had meant that he could no longer afford to keep Katsuo in his service.

Since the Tokugawa had taken power in 1600, they had confiscated property from many a lord, in the process demoting many samurai to ronin. There were now perhaps four hundred thousand ronin in Japan, and, with Japan at peace, they had few opportunities for respectable employment.

Katsuo wrinkled his nose. Masashige had been rewarded for his diligence with promotion to the lower junior rank of the court nobility; he now styled himself
Chikugo no kami
. And earlier this year he had been promoted to
ometsuke
, chief inspector, with a fief having an income of four thousand
koku
. A
koku
was the rice needed to feed a man for a year.

The ronin wondered why Masashige was so virulent in his hatred of the Catholics. Did he really consider them a threat to the
bakufu
? Did he see persecution of the Christians as a stepping stone to power? Could he be a relapsed convert, contemptuous of his former teachers?

The safest thing for Katsuo to do was to forget what he had heard. It wasn’t as though he cared a hoot what happened to the
kirishitan
.

But the opportunity to deal a blow to Masashige was tempting, and who knows? Katsuo might be rewarded, perhaps even become a direct retainer of the shogun.

* * *

Katsuo couldn’t exactly walk up to the shogun and say, “one of your junior ministers is plotting to trick you into thinking that there is about to be a Christian uprising. And putting the whole city at risk of fire in the process.” Even if he could get into earshot, and the shogun believed him, the shogun would thank Katsuo and then have him beheaded for his impertinence.

Nor was Katsuo on an intimate basis with any of the Council of Elders.

Logically, Katsuo should go to the Edo magistrate. There were two, the “North” and “South,” and they alternated months of duty. The magistrate on duty met with the councillors every morning.

But perhaps he was too high a personage to receive a visit from a humble ronin. Under the magistrate, there were the
yoriki
, also samurai. With a suitable gift, a
yoriki
would certainly introduce Katsuo to the Edo magistrate.

Unfortunately, Katsuo didn’t have any money.

Well, it was easy enough to find a
doshin
. They were the officers who actually patrolled the streets of Edo, and each carried a
jitte
as his badge of office.

But time was short, given what he knew of the plotter’s plans. By the time he worked his way up from a
doshin
to a
roju
, it would be too late for the information to do any good. Worse, the authorities might decide that
he
was part of the plot.

Wait. This was still the term that the magistrate of the north was on duty, the magistrate of the south didn’t take over until next week. That meant that the magistrate of the south should be reachable at his home. And he knew a merchant who was likely to know where that was.

* * *

Katsuo waited outside the magistrate’s home for the right opportunity. At last, he saw a maid walk out, bamboo basket in hand. He sweet-talked her into letting him into the anteroom. He explained to a higher servant that he had urgent, confidential information for the magistrate. Something about his voice and gestures must have been convincing, because he was told that the magistrate would see him as soon as possible, and he should just wait.

At the Hour of the Dog, he was ushered into the private office of the south magistrate. The official listened closely to Katsuo’s story.

“Inoue Masashige? You are sure it was him?”

“I would stake my life upon it.”

The magistrate stood up. “You have done the government a great service, Katsuo-san. I must ask you to remain here while I make the necessary arrangements. I assure you, you will get your just desserts.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency.”

The magistrate left, sliding the door behind him. Some time passed, with Katsuo lost in a reverie about the possible rewards. Suddenly, a nasty thought struck him. The south magistrate would be the magistrate on duty at the planned time of the mock attack. The police would make their reports to him. Might he actually be involved in the plot?

Katsuo ever so slowly slid the door open a crack. He could see the higher servant was outside, holding a cudgel.
Fuck
, he thought.
But let’s see if we can profit from the experience
.

He carried out a lightning search of the judge’s papers, looking for anything that could possibly relate to the plot. One of the papers was a map, with locations in Edo marked that Katsuo figured were the planned sites for the explosives. The map wasn’t labeled “plot to overthrow the shogun,” of course, but it would still lend support to Katsuo’s tale. And it wasn’t signed, but Japanese calligraphy was distinctive, and he thought, thinking back to that terrible order his daimyo had received, that it might be the work of Inoue Masashige himself.

That done, he drew his
katana with one hand and . . . cut his way out through another wall of the office. It was convenient that Japanese used so much paper in building construction.

The problem now, of course, was that the magistrate knew his name. He could be described to others, like hordes of
doshin
. Katsuo didn’t fancy matching his katana against a
doshin
’s
jitte
, if he could avoid it. The original
jitte
, the “weapon of ten hands,” was a polearm with tines for trapping an opponent’s sword. The Edo police carried a shorter one, with a single hook near the base. But it was still effective enough, as many a disorderly samurai stumbling around the pleasure district could attest to.

Katsuo needed a place to hide.

Shimabara Peninsula, Island of Kyushu, Japan,

Kirishitan Feast Day

So far as the police in Nagasaki knew, the Yamaguchis were in the country, visiting relatives in Shimabara. And that was true, so far as it went.

What the police didn’t know was that the relatives were secret Christians. Like the Yamaguchis. Each had a statue in a household shrine. To Buddhists, the statue seemed to be
Koyasu Kannon
, protector of women and children. To the
kirishitan
, she was the Virgin Mary.

There was no church, of course; they met in the home of one of the villagers. This feast day, one of the few that brought the entire community into one place, commemorated the birth of Christ. All evening, prayers were said to encourage Santa Maria Sama, and to aid the birth. At midnight, prayers of thanskgiving were recited. And of course, special foods were served.

Takuma wasn’t in a good mood. There was a visitor, someone who claimed to be a “Brother,” even though he looked Japanese. He admitted he was native born, but said that he had been made a brother by Diego de San Francisco Pardo, the Franciscan superior. Brothers were almost as hard to find at their ceremonies as padres, given the prices on their heads, so he was receiving much attention.

So why was Takuma displeased? There was something unsavory about this “Brother.” Takuma was a merchant, and this brother reminded him of one who had tried to cheat him by mixing shoddy goods in with a shipment.

The brother talked mysteriously about a great new Christian quest, and tried to persuade the younger men to meet him up the hill the next morning to discuss it. That afternoon, after he left, Takuma made an effort to un-persuade them. He hoped he was successful.

At least Hiraku was too young to get involved in any such nonsense.

Edo, Japan

Her name was Hanako. She was a
bikuni
, that is, a member of the order of wandering nuns, and owed a loose allegiance to the nunnery at Kamakura, perhaps ten
ri
south of Edo. Katsuo had met her a few months ago, on the road from Yokohama to Edo. He was then working as a
yojimbo
, a bodyguard, for a merchant.

Like almost all of the
bikuni
, she was pretty, despite having to shave her head to comply with the rules of her order. When Katsuo met her, she was wearing a black silk cap, and gloves without fingers, and carrying a shepherd’s crook. Her modus operandi was that if she saw a prosperous traveler, she would approach him, singing some rural ditty and with her kimono artfully arranged to show part of her bosom. The better endowed of the
bikuni
had found that this tended to encourage charitable giving.

What she had seen in Katsuo, he had no idea. Certainly, not even the slightest hint of wealth. But she had sung to him, and he had responded in kind, and one thing had led to another.

“You want to get a message to the Edo magistrate.” Hanako sounded doubtful.

“That’s right. The magistrate of the north, to be precise. Well, really to one of the councillors. Preferably Sakai Tadakatsu himself.”

“That’s easy.”

“What do you mean that’s easy? If I went up to the castle door, do you know how many hands I would have to grease to get up that high?”

“No, and I don’t care. I have a cousin who works in the Yoshiwara.” That was the pleasure district of Edo. Some of the
bikuni
were the daughters and wives of mountain-priests, but others, like Hanako, were ex-courtesans who had bought the privilege of entering the religious order.

“She’ll know who Sakai Tadakatsu’s favorite bed partner is, and get the message through to him plenty quick. You like?”

“Yes, I like, but I can’t afford a Yoshiwara girl. Even on a strictly intangible basis.”

“So you’ll have to convince her that conveying your message will gain her a reward.”