Where the Cuckoo Flies
February 1633 to January 1634
Where the cuckoo flies
till it is lost to sight—out there
a lone island lies.
—Matsuo Basho (1688)1
Nagasaki, Island of Kyushu, Japan,
Kan’ei 10, first month, sixth day (February 14, 1633)
Four down, one to go. Yamaguchi Takuma felt sweat beading on his brow, but he didn’t dare wipe it off.
The hissha, the ward scribe, called out the next name: “Hiraku.” Hiraku was Takuma’s son, the youngest member of the household and therefore the last to be summoned. He had only recently turned seven, the age at which a Japanese child was considered a member of the community. Until that age, “children belong to the gods.”
Mizuki, Takuma’s wife, took Hiraku by the hand and led him in front of the otona, the ward headman, and his assistants. When she started to leave, he clutched her uncertainly. She gently took his hands in hers and whispered to him, “Remember what you must do.” Then she let go of his hands and backed away.
Hiraku stared down at the carved stone blocks which the monban, the bearers of the images, had placed on the floor. One showed the crucified Christ, the other, a praying Mary.
He started to cry.
The otona frowned. One of the assistants whispered to him. Takuma bit his lip, wondering whether saying something would make matters worse.
Mizuki made a deep bow to the council. “He is only a small boy, seeing the images of the ‘Evil Sect’ frightens him. Allow me to assist him.” The otona nodded.
She took Hiraku by the hand, and led him so that he walked over the Christian images, thus desecrating them, just as his mother, father, and grandfather had done already.
“There, it is done!” she cried.
The otona clapped his hands, and beckoned to Yamaguchi. The scribe pointed to a blank spot on the register, and Yamaguchi applied his name seal to it. The otona coughed, and all the members of the household bowed. Then the otona rose, somewhat creakily, to his feet. “This efumi is concluded. You have reaffirmed your status as good Buddhists, and good Japanese. I congratulate you. Remember to report any suspicious activity to one of my assistants.”
He turned to his nichi gyoshi, the ward messenger, who was seated near the door. “Go at once to the house of Matsumoto the matmaker. Tell him that we just finished with Yamaguchi-san, and we are on our way to Tanaki-san. Tell Matsumoto-san that we expect to visit him at the hour of the monkey. Then meet us at Tanaki’s house.”
The nichi gyoshi bowed, and departed on his errand. The monban packed up the fumie, the Christian images, in their cases, and began the procession to Tanaki’s. They in turn were followed by the scribe, the assistant headmen, and lastly, the otona.
After they were out of earshot, Takuma whispered to his wife. “Tomorrow is the last day of the efumi. The following night, we’ll perform the rite of atonement.”
Edo Castle, the residence of the Shogun, in Edo (Old Tokyo), capital of Japan,
Kan’ei 10, fifth month (August 1633)
Pieter van Santen, the chief Dutch factor in the Land of the Rising Sun, shook out the exotic garment. “And this, Great Lord, is what the up-timers call a ‘rain poncho.’ They wear it to keep dry when it rains.”
Tokagawa Iemitsu, the Taikun, the shogun, the ruler of Japan, looked at it doubtfully. “What is this material it is made of?”
“I am told that they call it ‘plastic.’ It is manufactured, not natural. Is it not marvelous? It folds up into a small package, even though it covers the wearer as well as a haori.” That was the three-quarter length kimono-shaped coat of the samurai. “It has the transparency of glass, but it is flexible like cloth. And it is far more waterproof than any cloth.”
“Hmm. Put it on.”
Van Santen complied. Iemitsu made a twirling motion with his hand, and, after a moment’s hesitation, van Santen pirouetted, slowly.
Iemitsu snapped his fingers, and a servant appeared. Iemitsu whispered to him, and he returned a moment later, carrying a pail. He stood behind the Dutchman, who was unaware of the servant’s exact position, since protocol required that (unless commanded to do otherwise) the visitor remain facing the shogun at all times.
Iemitsu made a second gesture.
Splash! The servant had upended the bucket over the Dutchman. Iemitsu laughed with great vigor. A beat later, the rest of the court joined in.
Iemitsu held up his hand, and the laughter stopped, in mid-titter. “Let’s see how well this ‘rain poncho’ worked.”
The servant carefully lifted it off van Santen, then felt the material. He reported his findings to the chief of the attendants, who in turn confided them to a junior councillor. Finally, the senior councillor, on duty, Sakai Tadakatsu, made his report to the shogun.
“Dry.”
Van Santen bowed.
“What else do you have for me?”
“A barometer, it is a up-timer device for predicting the weather. A kind of artistic marvel; I believe it is called an ‘Etch-a-Sketch.’ A globe, showing the entire world as it existed, or I should say would have existed, in the time of the up-timers. And one of their firearms, Great Lord. On the instructions of your guards, it was locked in this chest.” He pointed to one held by a servant.
“You may open the chest, but do not touch the firearm without my permission.”
Van Santen unlocked the chest, and held it so the shogun could see its contents.
“Come closer.” Van Santen, head bowed, shuffled forward until he was close enough for the shogun to reach in.
The shogun held up a strange-looking firearm. “What is it?”
“In Grantville they call it a twelve-gauge pump-action shotgun. There are four hundred rounds in the small container which accompanies it. It is most often used for shooting birds, but it can be used in combat. Of course, it is not loaded.”
The shogun mimed shooting at a moving aerial target. Then he lowered the barrel.
“Who used it in combat? Samurai? Ashigaru?” Ashigaru were foot soldiers, usually commoners.
“Horse warriors, Great Lord. In the American Sengoku.”
Iemitsu, nodded, satisfied. Horse warriors, by definition, had to be samurai. The Sengoku was the most recent period of civil war in Japan, brought to a close in 1600 by the victory of Iemitsu’s grandfather Ieyasu in the Battle of Sekigahara.
Iemitsu examined the buckshot in the chest.
“May I humbly beg that the Taikun not test this present on my person?” said the envoy.
“No problem,” said Iemitsu. “We can always find a criminal. Or a peasant,” he added thoughtfully. “In the meantime, it can go into my firearms collection.
“Do you have any other presents for me? I am feeling a bit tired.” That was understood by all to mean that Iemitsu was bored and wanted to go hunting or hawking.
“Just some books. These are volumes of what the Americans call the World Book Encyclopedia. This one includes articles on Japan and Korea. Written in the Americans’ day, which, as we have told you, is four centuries in the future. And knowing of your interest in happenings in the Middle Kingdom, I also brought the volume with the essay on China. This third volume has an article on Asia, which covers the Kingdom of the Mughals, and the Kingdom of Ayutthaya, and many other places of interest. And the fourth one speaks about the rise of the Buddha. And I also have pages copied from other encyclopedias. And atlases.”
“I am sure it is all very interesting. Give it to Tadakatsu-san.” He clapped his hands, and everyone quickly prostrated themselves. A moment later, he was gone.
* * *
Tadakatsu directed van Santen to a small chamber near the audience hall. There, van Santen handed the four volumes to the chief councillor, who looked through them quickly.
Tadakatsu paged through the first volume, without saying a word, or even changing his expression.
This made van Santen uneasy. He pointed to the “J-K” volume. “The World Book Encyclopedia has a very interesting map of Japan. One which shows where gold, silver, copper and iron occur. Perhaps some of the localities are not yet known to you? There is also a map copied from the Hammond Citation World Atlas. And then I have a list for you of Japanese towns which, according to the Columbia Encyclopedia, are mining centers.”
He lowered his voice. “The Americans have only two originals of what they call the Great Encyclopedia. They don’t permit them to leave Grantville, but we have compiled the information which they provide on Japan. I have the compilation in manuscript form. It is in English, but I can translate it for you. It was sufficiently . . . sensitive . . . that I thought it best not to have it translated into Japanese, or even into Dutch.”
“What sort of information?”
“Information regarding certain, um, difficulties, which lie in the path of the shogunate. Difficulties that might be avoided if the shogunate knew about them in advance.
“And proof of both the perfidy of the Portuguese, and the loyalty and friendship of the Dutch.”
Kan’ei 10, ninth month (October 1633),
Shikoku, Japan
“So, now that there is no competitor to hear your great secret, please explain to my unworthy and lowly self: why are we slogging up a mountain instead of drinking sake at an inn, and flirting with the serving girls?” said Nakamura Takara.
His companion, Sumitomo Tomomochi, kept walking. “A friend of a friend . . . (breath) . . . of my esteemed father . . . (breath) . . . has a new diviner . . .” Abruptly, he decided that it was no use trying to talk and walk at the same time. Stopping, he explained. “This diviner says that there is a lode of copper somewhere around here.”
“Which father would that be?” This question was not as peculiar as it sounded. Tomomochi was the natural son of Soga Riemon, a coppersmith in Kyoto. Riemon had married the daughter of Sumitomo Masotomo, a former priest, who ran a bookshop-cum-pharmacy in the same city. To strengthen the alliance between the two families, Masotomo had adopted Tomomochi. Since Tomomochi and Takara were of samurai descent, they had true surnames.
“Riemon. Can we continue, please? I would like to get back down by nightfall.”
His hiking companion didn’t move. “And what do you mean, a ‘friend of a friend’?”
“You want us to be here all day? My father was called to the office of the Kyoto deputy.” That was the Tokugawa official who made sure that the emperor stayed out of politics. “To meet with a visiting superintendent of finance, out of Edo.” That made a bit more sense, since Soga Riemon had invented nanban-buki, the method of extracting silver and gold from blister copper. “And he had gotten his marching orders from some shogunate bigshot.”
“Really, who?”
“He was very careful not to say. Anyway, my father said, ‘So sorry, I am too old for climbing. Please speak to my son in Osaka after he gets back from Shikoku.’ And the superintendent said, ‘Funny you should mention Shikoku. The diviner I spoke of says that there is copper south of Niikama.’”
“Whoever that shogunate bigshot was, it’s a pity that he didn’t make the diviner slog along with us.”
“Save your breath for the climb, please.” Tomomochi resumed his struggle up the mountain trail.
“Oh, all right. Even if we don’t find copper, perhaps I’ll find some dragon bone.” Takara was, like his father, a physician. His father was one of Masotomo’s regular customers, and Takara had set up his own practice in Osaka. Naturally, he had been instructed to look up Tomomochi. That was how business was done in Japan.
* * *
Takara and Tomomochi had traveled to the island of Shikoku for the Shikoku Hachiju-hakkasho, a pilgrimage to eighty-eight temples on that island. At Mount Koya, they had put on the traditional garb: the white hakui coat, the purple wagesa scarf, and the conical sugegasa straw hat. And then each took a firm grip on his kongotsue, his walking stick, and headed for the first temple, Ryozenji.
When they planned the trip, they had expected to be able to complete the circuit in two months. However, when they reached Matsuyama, the halfway mark, there had been a sealed message waiting for Tomomochi. One whose contents he had refused to reveal to Takara, until now. At Niihama, they had deserted the pilgrimage route and headed deep into the mountains, guided by a local “mountain master.” Much to Takara’s amazement.
They were now on the south side of the Dozan ridge. The “mountain master” ahead of them halted abruptly. Then he resumed his progress, this time scuttling slowly forward in a peculiar half-crouch.
“What is it?” said Tomomochi.
“I saw . . . promising colors. In the small stones. Which may have fallen from someplace higher.”
“I wish they could have fallen from someplace lower,” said Takara.
They continued journeying. Tomomochi stopped from time to time to rub his hands. Even though it was summer, they were high in the mountains, above the timber line.
Then they stopped in amazement. Before them lay a massive buttress of stone, and in it, plain to see, was a vein of copper ore. The mountain-master prostrated himself before it, as if it were some kami of the mountain. Takara whooped. “You’ve hit the bullseye, my friend!”
“I will call this place Kanki,” replied Tomomochi. It meant “cheers of joy.”
* * *
“So, at least some of what is in the up-timers’ encyclopedias is true,” Tadakatsu told the shogun. “And since we do not allow the Dutch or Portuguese barbarians to roam freely, and we have not given them maps, their detailed descriptions of the geography of Japan must come from the future.”
“Could they not merely have very good diviners?”
“If they have diviners good enough to find copper mines in Nippon, while standing somewhere in Europe, then that is almost as remarkable.”
“The copper will certainly come in handy. What about the gold and silver? And the iron?”
“We have found the iron, too. Near Kamaishi. As to the rest—” Tadakatsu shrugged. “It is disappointing that we haven’t found them yet, but the maps and descriptions are of a very general nature. We must search a dozen ri in every direction from each town mentioned.” A ri was about two and a half miles. “And over mountainous terrain, to boot.
“But in view of our successes with copper and iron, I have ordered that additional surveying parties be sent out to look for the rest of the deposits.”
Beppu, on the Island of Kyushu, Japan
The Christian prisoners stood on the brink of Hell. There were five of them, all peasants, stripped naked, their bodies still bearing the red stripes of the lash.
But even though the sun had set, they weren’t shivering. To the west rose the great caldera of Mount Aso. Far beneath their feet, according to the Shinto priests they disdained, the yama no kami, the mountain spirits, tended gardens of fire in deep grottos. Like seeds blowing in the wind above, seeds of fire escaped from these grottos and heated the nearby lakes to fever pitch.
The kirishitan were held on the rocks above one such cauldron: Chino-ike Jigoku, the Hell of Boiling Blood. Steam rose from its rust-colored surface, first in wisps and then in great billows, and the air smelled of rotten eggs. The Hot Springs of Beppu were considered one of the Sandaionsen, the “Three Great Hot Springs” of Japan, but the kirishitan didn’t seem to be admiring the view.
Hasegawa Sadamitsu studied his prisoners, his expression suggesting that he had just bitten into an unripe persimmon. His superior had been broadly hinting that he wanted Sadamitsu to try throwing Christians into a snake pit, as the inquisitor in Arima was wont to do. Sadamitsu was much opposed to the idea. First, he would have to either buy or catch the snakes. Then they would have to be transported to the place of trial, and thrown in the pit. When the Christians’ ordeal had ended, either in death or recantation (or both), someone would have to recover the serpents and bring them back home. And then they would have to be cared for until the next batch of Christians was arrested. If he lost some of the snakes, there would be paperwork to fill out. And if the snake bit one of his men, who then died of the venom . . . more paperwork. Sadamitsu quietly cursed all hotshots who made unnecessary work for their colleagues.
Sadamitsu debated whether he should prod the Christians off the cliff one at a time. That would give the others time to reconsider their position. The shogunate wanted recanters, not martyrs.
On the other hand, it was getting late, and he really, really wanted a cup of sake.
He caught the eye of his second-in-command, and made a broad sweeping motion.
Edo (Tokyo), Japan
“You are sure of your translation?” demanded Sakai Tadakatsu.
“Most sure, my father taught me well.” The speaker was Magome Anjin . . . known to a few as Joseph Adams. His father was William Adams, the English pilot who became a hatamoto, an upper-level retainer, to Ieyasu, Iemitsu’s grandfather. Ieyasu valued William’s advice on dealings with foreigners. After Iemitsu’s recent edict restricting foreign trade, Joseph had thought it prudent to use his mother’s family name, Magome, rather than the English Adams. And the Japanese given name that Ieyasu had conferred on his father. Anjin, “pilot.” Joseph, too, was hatamoto, but he didn’t have any real influence with Iemitsu.
“I will have to think about how to present this to the shogun, and the Council. In the meantime, speak of it to no one without my permission.”
“Of course not. My heritage puts me at risk, if the information creates more ill will against the gaijin.”
Tadakatsu knew that the Dutch had their own goals; he hadn’t wanted to rely on a Dutch translation of the up-time texts. Hence, he had located and enlisted Anjin.
Thanks to Anjin, Tadakatsu now knew several explosive secrets. First, that in 1637, secret Christians had revolted in the Shimabara peninsula. Disgruntled ronin had joined them, and it had taken an army of two hundred thousand to crush the rebels. Perhaps thirty thousand rebels had lost their lives, either in the fighting or in the mass beheadings that followed.
Secondly, the shogunate had reacted by kicking out the Portuguese traders, and limiting the Dutch to the tiny islet of Deshima, in Nagasaki harbor, save for an annual journey to the shogun’s court in Edo.
And thirdly, that while the policy of seclusion—sakoku—had bought Japan over two centuries of peace, during that time, the Western powers had grown knowledgeable and mighty, and had finally humiliated the Tokugawa by forcing open the Japanese ports. Leading, in turn, to the overthrow of the shogunate by “outside lords” allied with the once-powerless emperor.
Tadakatsu believed that Iemitsu had no deep-seated hatred of Christianity per se. The Tokugawa concern was that the Spanish and Portuguese had a reputation of using missionaries as a fifth column, subverting the people and the lords and preparing the way for invasion. When the Tokugawa were still at war, the trade contact with the West was useful, as a source of weaponry. Once they had pacified the country, they concluded that Western guns and cannon were more likely to strengthen the outside lords, who had only grudgingly accepted Tokugawa rule, and stopped the trade in weapons. The Western traders remained convenient for conveying silks from China to Japan, but there was little else that the Tokugawa had still wanted from them.
But that was beginning to change. Iemitsu was not the only one who was fascinated with the up-time artifacts. There was also the newest senior councillor, Abe Tadaaki. Tadakatsu was confident that Tadaaki would, if properly approached, support the new policy Tadakatsu was thinking of proposing. And that he would be willing to dare the displeasure of the shogun by voicing his position before Iemitsu himself announced a policy change. It was Tadaaki, after all, who had refused to throw a fencing match to the shogun, back in 1630.
Still, once Iemitsu heard of the Shimabara Rebellion, he might lose his new-found enthusiasm. But should he? Tadakatsu feared that, with the dissemination of up-time knowledge, there would be Spanish or Portuguese steam warships off the Japanese coast in a decade, rather than two centuries. In which case seclusion wasn’t the solution. But free intercourse with the West might be equally dangerous. Tadakatsu wasn’t sure what he should recommend to the shogun.
He decided to go to the Senso-ji temple and pray to the Bodhisattva Kannon for guidance. And then perhaps call on Abe Tadaaki.
* * *
“Great Lord,” said Tadakatsu. “I have been thinking.”
“About the game?” asked Iemitsu. They were playing Go.
“About the parable concerning the sound the hare heard.”
Iemitsu placed a stone, threatening one of Tadakatsu’s formations. “What parable is that?”
“In one of his incarnations, the Bodhisattva was a lion of the forest. A hare lived in that forest. He was something of a philosopher, as hares go, and was thinking about how the Earth might come to an end. At that very moment, a ripe fruit fell nearby, but out of sight, and it made a loud sound. ‘The Earth is crumbling!’ the hare cried, and he started to run, without even a glance back in the direction of the sound that had startled him. Another hare saw him running and asked, ‘What’s the matter?’ The philosopher-hare answered, ‘There’s no time to ask or answer questions; run for your life!’ And the second hare ran.”
Tadakatsu took a sip of sake. “Other animals saw their flight, and started running too, without questioning whether they fled a forest fire, a stream of lava, or a tsunami. Soon, all the animals of the forest were fleeing, save for the Lion Bodhisattva. He forced one after another to stop and explain why he ran, and each referred him to another animal for the answer. At last he was directed to the hares, and the first hare told him what he had heard. The great-souled Lion told the other animals to wait, while he and the hare investigated further. With the Bodhisattva by his side, the hare found the courage to return, and there the Wise One found the ripe fruit, and the untroubled ground, and realized what had happened.”
Tadakatsu counterattacked in another part of the board. “And thus it was that the animals of the forest learned that they must not listen to rumors, they must learn the truth before they act.”
November 1633
The senior members of the Roju, the Council of Elders, were assembled in the yobeya, the “business office” of the shogunate. It was in the central citadel of Edo Castle, near the shogun’s daytime apartment. The councilmen in attendance were Inaba Masakatsu, Naito Tadashige, Morikawa Shigetoshi, Aoyama Ukinari, Matsudaira Nobutsuna, Abe Tadaaki, and Sakai Tadakatsu.
A page entered, and announced the impending arrival of the shogun. The Roju made the appropriate obeisance and Iemitsu entered.
Iemitsu cleared his throat. “You are of course aware that an extraordinary event has been reported to have occurred in the land of the Southern Barbarians. A so-called ‘Ring of Fire’ transported a town from four hundred years in the future into our time. And from the place the Barbarians call ‘America’ to their Europe.
“The Dutch and Portuguese agree that this Ring of Fire is real, and they also agree that such a prodigy could only be the result of divine action. Such agreement on the part of barbarians so hostile to each other is of course a miracle in itself.
“While they did not dare to say so to us, I am sure that they credit it to their Christ. We of course know that it must be the result of the action of the buddhas, or the kami, or perhaps both acting in concert.
“It is of course essential that we fully understand the significance of this event in the context of Ryobu Shinto.” The term referred to the amalgamation of the Shinto and Buddhist religions, peculiar to Japan.
“We believe that this requires firsthand observation. But even if there was a barbarian whom we trusted, they are all ignorant of the true nature of the universe, and could not be expected to make intelligent observations. Hence, we have decided that a proper religious delegation must be sent to this, this Grantville.
“So, I have decided to license a Dutch ship to sail under the Red Seal, and bear my embassy to Amsterdam, and, ultimately, to Grantville.” He paused, then added nonchalantly. “While the delegation is in Grantville they can of course also consider whether the up-timers have any suitable gifts for us. Like the ‘rain poncho.’ Or the ‘barometer.’” “Gifts” was a euphemism for trade goods, it being uncouth for any of the bakufu, let alone the shogun, to show open interest in any mercantile dealings. The bakufu were the ruling class, that is, the shogun’s close relations, high shogunate officials, and the daimyo and their most powerful retainers.
Osaka, Japan
“So, is it ready yet?” asked Takara.
“Not yet,” Tomomochi replied. They stood outside a swordsmith’s shop. There, they could hear the impacts of the hammers as the swordsmiths pursued their sacred art. In his mind’s eye, Tomomochi could picture them. They wore robes, like those of Shinto priests, and their work area was marked off by a rope from which paper streamers hung, like the enclosure of a Shinto shrine.
A messenger had come from the capital a few weeks ago, informing Tomomochi that in view of his discovery of the great new copper mine, he had been awarded the right to wear the daisho, the “long and short.” A commoner usually could only carry the short blade, the wakizashi, and then only when authorized to do so by a travel permit. Only samurai, and a few privileged non-samurai, had the right to carry the longsword, the katana.
“Have you decided on the tsuba design?” The tsuba was the sword guard, and would be made by another craftsman.
“An ‘igeta,’ of course.” The igeta was the frame placed around a country well. A stylized igeta, four crossed lines in a diamond pattern, appeared on the shop-sign of Riemon Soga’s smithy in Kyoto, and also, of course, on that of Tomomochi’s satellite establishment in Osaka. Both of their stores were named Izumi-ya, that is, “spring-shop.”
Tomomochi’s thoughts went to the other news brought by the messenger. News of risk and opportunity. He had been invited to join a mission halfway around the world, to study the arts of Grantville. Not one Japanese in ten thousand even knew the name, so closely had the shogunate guarded the information about it. But he had been told that the general location of the copper mine he had found had been divulged in a book from Grantville, a book supposedly written hundreds of years in the future. And that the shogunate had resolved to find out if Grantville really came from the future, the spiritual significance of its appearance, and finally, whether they had any useful arts which the Japanese should acquire. As it had acquired gunsmithing from the Portuguese almost a century ago. The messenger hinted that the up-time craftsmen exceeded the Portuguese as much as the Japanese did the primitive Ainu to the north.
It was the opportunity of a lifetime. But who would care for his father if he fell ill? Who would run his shop while he was away? What if the ship was sunk by a typhoon? Or, returning, he found that politics had shifted again, and that they were barred from reentering Japan?
He had not, of course, been formally offered the position. He would have to make a decision soon, and send word of what it was. If, and only if, he said he intended to accept, would he receive the offer. No Japanese official would make such an offer without knowing in advance that it would be accepted. Embarrassment must be avoided.
December 1633,
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.”
“I think I can do that.”
“Great. Let’s see how persuasive your tongue is.” She snickered.
Early January, 1634
Inoue Masashige, once an honored and feared omotsuke, an up-and-comer in the Tokugawa bureaucracy, sighed. Hands which had once been stained with ink were now grimy with the dark soil of Hachijo Island. Fingers once callused only by the rigors of sword practice now were blistered from the unaccustomed demands of the shovel.
He looked down at the pillar hole he had dug. Tomorrow, with the help of the local farmers, he would set the pillars in place and place a thatched roof above. Eventually, he would have a hut to call his own.
At least he would not have to farm the land himself. He had just persuaded the peasants that they should feed him in return for lessons in reading, writing and abacus-arithmetic. He might even aspire to be the village’s official scribe. Hah! His yashiki-gami, the guardian spirit of the Inoue, must have been drunk on sake when Katsuo slept in that confounded grove!
His erstwhile ally, the Edo magistrate of the south, had been executed. Good riddance, thought Masahige. Were it not for his incompetence, the plan would have succeeded. Masashige might at this moment be sitting in Edo Castle, in the chamber of the junior councillors, an honored protégé of the shogun.
But the magistrate, instead of simply slaying that busybody ronin, Katsuo, on the spot, had left a fool of a servant to guard him, armed only with a cudgel. Moron. Imbecile. Idiot.
When that sanctimonious prig of a senior counselor, Sakai Tadakatsu, revealed the anti-kirishitan plot to the shogun, Masashige had prepared to commit seppuku. Indeed, he wondered now whether that was what he should have done in the first place, rather than concoct the “gunpowder plot.” That is, carry out seppuku-kanshi, the ritual suicide to reproof one’s lord.
But Masashige’s friends had insisted that he go quietly into exile. His life had been spared at the urging of Iemitsu’s only friend (and former lover), the junior councillor Hotta Masamori. Masamori was one of the leaders of the anti-Christian, pro-seclusion faction within the bakufu, “Do not waste our efforts on your behalf. The Christians will make a mistake, and the shogun will remember that you tried to warn him of their threat. He will forgive you; you will return to Edo in triumph,” Masomori told him.
And Masashige vowed that if he ever got off the island, he would make sure that Katsuo regretted his meddling with affairs of state.
* * *
The privileged Tadakatsu sat with the shogun in the Great Interior, the inner section of the Edo Castle. Through the walls, he could hear the clacks as the shogun’s ladies practiced with the yaginata, the halberd.
Tadakatsu’s star was in the ascendant. He had enriched the shogun by identifying new mines, and making sure they came under Tokugawa control. He had learned of various beneficial political practices which, in the old time line, would soon have been adopted by the shogunate, and was able to gain credit for recommending them at this earlier date. And finally this ronin, the Katsuo, had alerted him to Inoue Masashige’s plot, allowing Tadakatsu to discredit the reactionaries at court. Now, he thought, it was time to tell the shogun of the kernel of truth unwittingly concealed in that plot, and recommend a new course of action.
“What would you say, Great Lord, of a farmer who ate all his saved seed?”
“I would say that he is very foolish, he fills a stomach for a short time, but he dooms himself to starvation in the long term.”
“Ah, and in that lies the genius of Japan, which distinguishes it from the Southern Barbarians. Thirteen hundred years have elapsed since the time of the Emperor Jimmu. How old is the oldest of the barbarian nations? A few centuries at most.
“Their rulers think only of what will profit them over the next month, or year, or perhaps a decade.”
Iemitsu interrupted. “Whereas we also concern ourselves with the tale of centuries.”
Tadakatsu inclined his head. “Such is the genius of the Japanese . . . and the Tokugawa. Now reading these up-time texts, I have found that there was a policy established which served our nation well for many years, but which in the end was our downfall. By this Ring of Fire, the kami and the boddhisatva have given us the opportunity to perceive this pitfall and to moderate that policy for both short and long-term good.”
“What is that policy?”
“The policy of sadoku, in a more stringent form than it exists now. We thought that the greatest threat to the stability of Tokugawa rule was the threat from within, from the missionaries and their converts. And indeed, in the old time line there was an incident, four years from now, which fueled our fears.” The Shimabara rebellion started in December 1637, the end of Kan’ei 15. “But instead it is the threat from without which we must meet, and because of the changes in the world, mere exclusion of western ideas is insufficient. Permit me to explain further.”
Iemitsu heard him out. Finally, he said, “So what do you propose?”
“Of course, Great Lord, you can put all the kirishitan, whether in Shimabara or elsewhere, to death. And I agree that so long as the Southern Barbarians use missionaries to conquer from within, we must keep them out of our homeland and forcibly repress Christianity.”
“I hear a ‘but.’”
“But I think we can defend the homeland better by exiling the kirishitan, rather than killing them. Exile them far away, to a place where, in the defense of their new homes, they would be an obstacle to the expansion of the Southern Barbarians, rather than a threat to Nippon.”
Iemitsu thought about this. Exile was a classic Japanese punishment. Depending on the severity of the offense, and the offender’s connections, a criminal might be forbidden to enter Edo, banned from coming within twenty-five ri of Edo, or exiled to some remote and uncomfortable island. Iemitsu’s grandfather Ieyasu had sent Ukita Hideie, the daimyo of Mimasaka, and one of the Five Elders of the defeated Toyotomi faction, into perpetual exile on Hachijo, an island guarded by the dangerous currents of the Kuro Shio, the Black Tide. He would have been beheaded if he had not been the husband of a Maeda and the friend of Lord Shimazu.
“Are you sure that the bakufu won’t see such a pronouncement as a sign of weakness?”
“Not if properly presented, as a veiled attack on the Spanish domains. We will of course either occupy Hara castle with a strong force, from a domain known for anti-Christian sentiments, or pull it down altogether.” Hara was the castle where the Christian rebels, in the Shimabara rebellion, had made their last stand. “We can concentrate the kirishitan, or most of them at least, on an island, where we can keep them isolated until we are ready to transport them. And we should remove Matsukura from office, since it was his stupidity that triggered the rebellion.”
Iemitsu closed his eyes for a moment. “I will appoint Abe Tadaaki—don’t look surprised, I know that you and he are thick as thieves, lately!—to supervise the operation. With the understanding that it is a temporary appointment, that I want him back in Edo as soon as it is completed.
“Once the kirishitan are gone, we can open the Shimabara pensinsula to peasants from the more crowded of the other domains. And we can leave the daimyo guessing as to who will get rulership over it. They’ll be intriguing against each other, instead of against me.”
Tadakatsu smiled slightly. It was becoming Iemitsu’s idea, which was a good thing indeed.
But Iemitsu’s next remark made it clear that he wasn’t completely convinced. “Still . . . the Spanish, they keep sneaking in missionaries. Even if we completely replace the population of Shimabara, the problem will be back in another generation or two.”
Tadakatsu clapped his hands together. “Let us again use one problem to solve another. The ronin are restive, that is why some were recruited into the rebellion. So give the ronin something to do that will bring them back into service, and will also solve the missionary problem.”
“Ah. Manila.”
“Toyotomi Hideyoshi asserted sovereignty over the Philippines almost four cycles ago. And four years ago, you . . . um . . . ‘encouraged’ Matsukura Shigemasa’s plan to attack Manila.” Shigemasa was Katsuie’s father, and a warrior who had distinguished himself at the battle of Sekigahara and the siege of Osaka Castle. “Without actually promising to give him the one-hundred-thousand koku fief he wanted.”
“Ah, poor Shigemasa. He died that very year.”
“Not before obtaining Dutch support. Maps. Espionage reports on the Spanish garrison. Offers of cannon, troopships, and warships. I daresay the Dutch would still be . . . cooperative.”
“I must think about it. Is it better to move against Manila before we deal with the kirishitan here, or only after they are in exile? Do we trust the Dutch, or wait until we can build a fighting fleet of our own?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “How many kirishitan do you think there are?”
“Two to four tens of thousands, according to the up-timers’ encyclopedias.”
Iemitsu frowned. “That many? We don’t have many ocean-going ships. Do we have enough?”
“The Dutch and the Chinese have more. But even if we hired their vessels, we will have to transport the kirishitan in shifts, since otherwise there will be too many of them for the new land to support. A few thousand each year, over a twelve-year cycle.”
“Too long.”
Tadakatsu bowed. “I will speak to the shipbuilders.”
“Ask the Dutch for help if you must,” said Iemitsu.
“Let me show you where we might send the kirishitan, on the up-time globe the Dutch gave you.” Tadakatsu turned the sphere, and jabbed down his finger. “Here is Nippon.” He moved it lightly over the surface of the globe, following the ocean currents marked upon it. “And here, I propose, is New Nippon, the place of exile.”
The shogun gave the globe a spin, and laughed. “So be it . . . Tairo.”
Tadakatsu bowed deeply. There had not been a tairo, a “great elder,” since the time of Hideyoshi. He was now the chief of the senior ministers of the State.
Negi-Cho district, Edo
Hanako studied her lover. “Wake up, Katsuo.”
No response.
“Katsuo, we’ll be late.”
Grunt.
Hanako reached for a pitcher of water near their bedding, and poured a thin stream onto Katsuo’s upturned face.
He rose with an oath, and reached for his sword . . . which Hanako had prudently first positioned out of his reach.
“Hanako, are you trying to drown me?”
“I am glad to see you’re awake now.”
“What time is it, anyway?”
“The sixth time.” That was what an up-timer would call six a.m. “Can’t you tell by the light? Didn’t you hear the shopkeepers sliding open their doors?”
“The sixth . . . I didn’t sleep at all last night. Let me go back to sleep.” He reached for the quilt, and pulled it over his head.
She pulled it back down. “You’re taking me to the theater, to celebrate. Remember?”
He reached for her. “I have a better idea . . .”
“Oh, no you don’t,” she said, taking evasive action. “It isn’t every day I get the chance to see Nakumura Kanzaburo perform.”
Grudgingly, he got dressed. Done, he grabbed a fold of his kataginu jacket, twisting his neck to get a better view of the insignia recently sewn on. “Wish we had a mirror.”
“What did you expect? It’s just a restaurant that earns some extra coin by letting people sleep here that want to get to the theater when it opens.”
The insignia was the triple hollyhock, the mon of the Tokugawa clan. Katsuo was now a gokenin, a direct retainer of the shogun, with a stipend of one hundred koku.
Hanako wouldn’t dream of saying so, but she was happy that he hadn’t been made a hatamoto. He might then think himself above consorting with a bikuni. “Hurry, Katsuo. Nakamura could come on stage any moment now.”
Kyushu, Japan
Hasegawa Sadamitsu pointed with distaste at the base of the stake. “Too much tinder,” he rebuked. “The irmao will burn too quickly. Since his crimes are greater, he should suffer longer.” The Franciscan brother tied to that stake waited impassively as the actual executioners, of the abhorred eta class, made the necessary adjustment. The missionaries who had come openly to Japan had been kicked out in 1614. Perhaps thirty had gone underground, but most of those had been captured, and had either recanted their faith or gone to their martyrdom. This brother was one of the handful who sneaked into Japan each year on Portuguese or Chinese ships.
Sadamitsu also waited, but more impatiently. It didn’t appear that he would have any last-minute apostates in the present lot of condemned kirishitan, and that meant that Sadamitsu wouldn’t receive the bonus for causing a Christian, especially a priest, to renounce his faith. It was enough to unsettle his stomach.
Gradually, Sadamitsu became aware of a commotion, coming closer and becoming louder. Nonetheless, he raised his hand, ready to command the executioners to light the piles.
“Halt!”
Sadamitsu turned angrily, but quickly swallowed his words.
A special messenger from the shogun, as the man’s uniform and banner proclaimed him to be, was not to be trifled with.
“Edict from the shogun.”
“Thank you, make yourself comfortable, I will read it as soon as I have this execution under way.”
“You must read it aloud to the prisoners before proceeding.”
“Very well. But it’s a waste of time giving them another chance to repent, if that’s what it’s about.” Sadamitsu cleared his throat, and began reading aloud.
“This edict is to be read aloud and posted in every place where it is customary to announce an edict.
“1. The padres of the Christians have disturbed the tranquility of the realm by advocating the destruction of the shrines of the kami and the temples of the buddhas. Such cannot be permitted.”
That was in Hideyoshi’s edict in the fifteenth year of Tensho, Sadamitsu recalled. 1587 in the Christian reckoning. Why was the shogunate wasting his time with this?
“2. They also spread a pernicious doctrine to confuse the right ones, with the secret intent of changing the government of the country and giving ownership of the country to a European king.”
Well, that hadn’t been in an edict, but the apostate’s oath required that he admit that the purpose of the padres’ teachings was to justify and facilitate taking the lands of others.
“3. However, we know from the example of the Dutch that it is possible to be Christian without acting outrageously.”
Sadamitsu didn’t like where this was going.
“4. Hence, the Japanese-born followers of the padres will be allowed to worship according to their conscience, and Japanese-born padres and brothers will be permitted to teach the Christian faith, but only in duly constituted Christian settlements in New Nippon, a land across the sea.”
Exile! What was the shogun thinking? It was true that exile, whether from Edo, or one’s home province, or to some desolate island, was a time-honored punishment in Japan, but if the kirishitan were sent into exile, wouldn’t they just sneak back?
And where was this New Nippon? North of Korea, perhaps? Across the Sea of Okhotsk? Well, at least they would freeze their butts off.
The prisoners were praising their Lord, now. How irritating.
“Keep reading,” said the messenger. Was he smirking? It wasn’t as though his job was at risk!
“5. In order to be permitted to go to New Nippon, they must take oath, on pain of eternal punishment by the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, as well as by Saint Mary and all Angels and Saints, as follows:
“a) they will not return to the homeland without permission of the shogun, or assist any Southern Barbarian in going to the homeland without permission of the shogun.
“b) they will defend New Nippon against the Christian powers, obey the daimyos duly appointed by the shogun to govern them, and support their daimyos as is customary, save as they may be excused during the first years of settlement.
“c) they will not oppress the worshipers of the buddhas and kamis, or the followers of Confucius, in that land, or prevent any Christian from renouncing that faith and returning to any of the traditional religions of Nippon.
“d) they will repay the cost of their transportation to New Nippon as soon as is reasonable.
“e) they will provide the inquisitors with any information they have as to the whereabouts of Christians still in hiding.”
Sadamitsu turned to the messenger. “How are we going to enforce this oath?”
He shrugged. “They will be shipped in batches. Those still in Japan will be punished if the first to be sent are disobedient. And they will need supplies shipped to them if they are to survive, let alone prosper. Gunpowder, if nothing else.”
“Still—”
“Please, finish reading the edict.”
Sadamitsu took a deep breath. “6. Those who timely accept exile, and cooperate with the authorities, will be permitted to take all of their possessions to New Nippon. Those who do not, will forfeit, depending on the circumstances, some or all of their possessions before being sent into exile, and will be required to work as servants, for an appropriate period of years, for those who behaved properly.”
Oh, I like that, Sadamitsu thought. Create a schism in the Christian community between those who surrendered quickly and those who tried to stay in hiding, with the ones we prefer on top.
“7. Any informer revealing the whereabouts of followers of padres that have not timely surrendered themselves must be rewarded accordingly. If anyone reveals the whereabouts of a high ranking padre, he must be given one hundred pieces of silver. For those of lower ranks, depending on the deed, the reward must be set accordingly.”
Sadamitsu thought about this for a moment. Perhaps he would go into the padre-hunting business, now that he couldn’t execute them.
“8. Any apprehended padres who are Southern Barbarians shall stand surety with their lives for the good behavior of the followers permitted to go to New Nippon. If all goes well, then in twelve years they will be permitted to pay for their transport to a Southern Barbarian land. Any who afterward return will be executed in the most painful way imaginable.”
Good, good. Sadamitsu prided himself on his imagination.
“9. Any Japanese-born followers of the padres who fail to take the oath, or to apostasize, within three years of this edict, are to be executed.
“10. Books teaching the Christian faith may be taken or sent to New Nippon, but only if they are in the Japanese language, are offered for inspection by the inquisitors, and are found to not contain teachings contrary to the required oath.”
The edict closed with the formulaic, “You are hereby required to act in accordance with the provisions set above. It is so ordered.”
Sadamitsu looked at the Christian captives. “So, do you wish to take the oath?” They nodded their heads.
“Don’t be hasty,” he admonished. “New Nippon is probably thousands of ri away, too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer, filled with savage monsters eager to dine on kirishitan flesh.”
They assured him that they would prefer to take their chances with the monsters.
Nagasaki, Japan
“Can it really be true?” Mizuki asked her husband. “That if we go on these ships, that we will be taken to a land where we will be free to worship the Christ?”
“That’s what the proclamation said,” Takuma admitted. “But it might be a trick, to get us to reveal ourselves. Then they kill us. Or perhaps they will let us board the ships, but then, once we are out of sight of land, throw us overboard.”
“How long do you think we will live if we stay here? There are spies everywhere,” said Mizuki. “And what of our son? You know how precocious he is. He has learned his catechisms so well. But that makes it all the harder for him to carry about the pretense that he is Buddhist. What will happen at next year’s efumi? Will he refuse to desecrate the images?”
“Oto-sama, what do you think?” Takuma was addressing his father, who had retired as head of the household a decade earlier, but of course was still consulted on all major decisions.
“If you don’t throw the dice you’ll never land sixes.”
* * *
“So, soon we will leave for New Nippon,” said Mizuki.
“Indeed,” said Takuma as he packed his wares. “More precisely, we will be helping to create New Nippon. Right now, it’s just a wild land, according to the Red-Hair merchants I have done business with. The Red-Hairs call it—” he struggled visibly to recall the strange Dutch word—“America.”