Zenta had once worked as an instructor in a fencing academy, and he liked to adopt his classroom manner during actual combat. It never failed to intimidate his opponents by reducing them to the status of students. On Lord Fujikawa’s men it had the desired effect. Involuntarily they retreated a step.
The leader was bolder, however. Sensing his control of the situation slipping, he glared at his men and shouted, “What are we waiting for? Let’s sweep the streets clean of these beggars!”
“I think that the heat must have affected your brain,” Zenta said to the leader. “Let me cool your head by cutting off your topknot.”
In spite of himself the leader began to share the uneasiness of his men. But out of the corner of his eye he saw the bamboo blinds of the sedan chair twitch, and he knew that he could not retreat with the eyes of his mistress on him. “You can’t frighten me!” he cried and lunged forward, swinging his sword at the ronin’s smiling face.
Zenta easily dodged the blow. He still had not raised his sword, and his eyes were narrowed in calculation.
The leader made another slashing attack, putting all his strength behind the swing. When the ronin again evaded the blow, the leader felt a cold lump growing in his stomach. Resolved to lose his life rather than his topknot, he made a third desperate attack. His mistake was to focus his attention on the ronin’s long sword, and he didn’t see his opponent’s left hand whip out his short sword from his sash.
The leader felt only a gentle tug at the top of his head. A moment later there was a tickling sensation around his neck. In stunned silence, he looked down and stared at the small knot of hair now lying between his feet. The rest of his hair, released when the topknot was cut off, hung loose down to his shoulders.
With a loud wail of shame and anger, the leader threw himself on the ground. He tore open the front of his kimono, drew his short sword and prepared to plunge it into his abdomen. The rest of the men stood motionless, for no samurai would dare to interfere in the solemn rite of hara-kiri.
But one person did. “Kotaro!” said a voice from the sedan chair, and a delicate white hand raised the bamboo blind. “What do you think you are doing? Stop this foolishness at once and get on with our visit to the shrine!”
Kotaro, about to embark on a dramatic death to wipe out his shame, dropped his sword hastily and scrambled to his feet. “Yes, Lady Yuki, at once!” he stammered.
As Kotaro straightened his clothes and gave orders to his men, Lady Yuki leaned out to study the two ronin. Matsuzo found her pale, narrow face rather overrefined. Her expression was one of complete boredom, but when her glance rested on Zenta, it showed a glimmer of interest.
Matsuzo saw this interest and was troubled by it. They had enough complications without getting involved with a girl who looked as spoiled as Lady Yuki did.
The sedan chair was finally lifted and the bamboo blind dropped back into place. Staring after the procession, Matsuzo gave a start when he heard a voice behind him say, “Are you really our new bodyguards?”
It was the Portuguese with the gun.
Chapter 4
When Zenta nodded, the Portuguese said, “You arrived just in time. Those men didn’t know, but I could never have lighted my gun in time. Who sent you?”
“We were sent by Hambei, who was acting under Nobunaga’s orders,” said Zenta. “Have Lord Fujikawa’s men tried to attack you before?” “Up to now they were satisfied with a few insults,” replied the Portuguese. “When they got bolder, I simply pointed my gun at them, and that was enough to keep them at a distance. I wonder what made them attack today?” Zenta smiled. “I think your prestige slipped badly when you started to talk to them. You were using a woman’s style of speech.”
“So that was it!” said the Portuguese. “I learned your language from some women in a fishing village. I had been shipwrecked and had to spend a long time in the village recovering. With the men away at sea, it was mostly the women who taught me the language. I keep forgetting that men and women speak differently here. In our language we don’t make a distinction.”
This was added proof that the Portuguese were a strange and barbaric people, thought Matsuzo as he took his first close look at the foreigner. The man’s most prominent feature, of course, was his nose. Not only did it jut out from his face to an extraordinary degree, but the nostrils were correspondingly large. Matsuzo wondered what would happen if the foreigner caught cold and his nose started to run. He might have to catch the catarrh with a basin! Next to the nose, the strangest feature was the eyes. At least they were a normal brown color, although Matsuzo had heard that some foreigners had gray or even blue eyes. They were, however, very round and set so deeply that almost half of the eyelids were hidden. Altogether it was a very craggy face, with prominent protuberances and deep indentations. With his even and white teeth, the foreigner did have a pleasant smile, and the smile made him look very friendly and human.
As they entered the gate of the foreigners’ residence, the Portuguese said, “The name of our priest is Father Luis, and I am called Pedro. Do you mind if we don’t bother with family names? Japanese surnames sound all alike to me, and I suspect that ours are just as confusing for you.”
“You’re probably right,” said Zenta. “ ‘Pedro’ and ‘Father Luis’ are bad enough. I’m sure that my tongue will get permanently twisted from your family names.”
“I have heard that not everyone here has a family name,” said Pedro. “Do you gentlemen have any?”
The blood rose in Matsuzo’s face, but before he could make an angry reply, Zenta hastened to say, “The peasants in our country don’t possess surnames, but we samurai have them. For everyday, however, our given names are enough. I’m called Zenta, and this is Matsuzo.”
“In any case we can’t tell you our real names,” said Matsuzo primly. “Most ronin employ pseudonyms because they might find themselves in situations that could bring dishonor to their families.”
Pedro grinned. “I suspect that I’ve just committed another social blunder. People here seem to get very upset about these things.”
“In our country social blunders can produce violent or even fatal consequences,” said Zenta. “We’d better make it part of our guard duties to see that you don’t make too many more of them.”
“At least I’ve learned this much about your etiquette,” said Pedro, “that one of the first acts of hospitality is to offer people a bath. After we’ve seen Father Luis, let me order a bath and have a room made ready for you.”
The residence of the Portuguese, Matsuzo was relieved to find, was an ordinary upperclass house. Removing their shoes, the three men stepped up to a wooden veranda that ran along the outside of the house. Pedro pushed open a sliding door that led them through a reception hall that would not have disgraced the castle of some petty provincial warlord.
The floor was covered with closely fitting tatami mats bordered with brocade, and the exposed beams of the room were of rare and costly wood. Tall, built-in cupboards on one side of the room had sliding doors painted by artists. However, where a normal room would have an alcove for displaying a flower arrangement, a scroll painting or other artistic work, there was instead a raised platform, covered with a richly embroidered tapestry. On the top were some golden vessels of various shapes. Matsuzo guessed that they were used in ceremonies of the Christian religion.
Leaving the reception hall, the three men passed through a corridor, their feet gliding smoothly on the polished wooden floor. Through a half open door Matsuzo caught sight of a garden landscaped with shrubs, trees, sand and moss. In short, the house looked normal and comfortable. He had been half expecting the foreigners to live in a dark, cavernous mansion made of stone, like the devils in a children’s tale.
Nevertheless Matsuzo decided that the place had a distinctly foreign feel. Perhaps it was the smell, although he wasn’t sure what exactly made the smell different. It was probably a combination of the incense in the religious vessels, different foods cooked
in the kitchen and different fabrics used in the clothing and furnishings. Matsuzo wasn’t sure whether he liked the smell or not, but it was exotic and rather exciting.
Some of the furnishings had a very foreign look indeed. When Pedro took the two ronin to Father Luis’s room, they found the priest seated on top of a small table with his back against an upright piece and his two arms resting upon low railings on either side. His legs dangled straight down in front and his feet rested flat on the floor. Matsuzo realized that this small table was a “chair,” something which he had seen only in Chinese paintings.
In one corner of the room was another table, but very large and piled with blankets, with a thick cushion at one end. It took Matsuzo a moment to realize that this table was used as a sleeping couch. Why would the Portuguese want to sleep on this raised platform instead of resting in comfort and security on the floor? One could roll off the platform during sleep and get hurt! Perhaps Portugal was a country overrun with rats and other pests that made sleeping on the floor too dangerous.
Meanwhile Pedro was speaking to the priest in his own language, obviously explaining the presence of the two ronin. When Pedro finished, Father Luis rose to address them. Although Matsuzo couldn’t understand a word, he guessed that Father Luis was welcoming them and expressing his thanks for their intervention.
While the priest was speaking, Matsuzo couldn’t help gazing curiously around the room. In addition to the chair and the sleeping couch, there was a table, about waist high, piled with books bound in leather. Hanging from one wall was a large wooden cross. The priest wore a small metal cross on a chain around his neck, and Matsuzo had heard stories—he was sure it was mere superstition—that the cross was a charm against weapons and disease. This large cross, however, had a carved wooden figure nailed to it by its hands and feet. There was so much agony in the expression of the figure that Matsuzo shuddered and turned away hastily.
The priest noticed his glance and gave him a singularly sweet smile. He said a few words in dismissal and made a gesture. Matsuzo decided that even if the gesture had no magical powers, it was kindly meant.
The room assigned to the two ronin was large, airy and pleasantly cool. To Matsuzo’s relief, a girl was laying out thick, soft sleeping quilts for them on the floor. They would not have to sleep on top of a raised platform after all. The staff, too, seemed to be composed of their own countrymen, and they would not feel isolated.
When the girl had finished making the beds and left, the two men looked thoughtfully at each other. “This Pedro must have some decent instincts, to order a bath and this comfortable room prepared for us,” Matsuzo admitted. “And the priest looked like a gentle sort of person.”
“They are not only decent and gentle,” said Zenta. “They impressed me as brave men. Pedro held himself well when he was in danger from Lord Fujikawa’s samurai. I think that it might even be possible to become friends with these Portuguese.”
Chapter 5
“And you say that his family is from the north?” asked Nobunaga.
“Zenta doesn’t talk about his family,” said Hambei. “Apparently it’s a painful subject. But from his accent and his knowledge of the area, my guess is that he is from the northern part of the country.”
“Has it occurred to you that this ronin may have been sent as an assassin?” said Nobunaga. “Some of the northern lords like Uesugi and Takeda see themselves as future rulers of the country. They must want me out of the way.”
“After your recent successes, my lord, assassination is a great danger,” said Hambei. He was not trying to flatter his master. He was simply stating a fact. “But I don’t believe that Zenta is an assassin. I’ve worked with him before, and I know his character well. He would rather starve than work for a master he considered unworthy. He told me that he came to Miyako to enlist in your service because you had the best chance of unifying the country.”
“Very gracious of him,” said Nobunaga dryly. “I hope that I can live up to his high expectations.”
When Pedro went into Father Luis’s study, he found the priest fanning himself with a large folding fan painted brightly with irises in blue, green and gold. It was a gift from Nobunaga, and it looked odd against the dark color of his Jesuit gown. Although it was still early morning, the day already promised to be sweltering, and Father Luis seemed to have decided that the way to cope with Japanese weather was to use a Japanese implement.
“Well, what do you think of our new bodyguards?” Pedro asked.
The priest took off his spectacles and polished them. Pedro suspected that Father Luis’s eyes were quite good and that he occasionally wore his spectacles because he took a simple pleasure in startling the Japanese with them. At least being called “four eyes” was a change from being called “long-nosed devil.”
“Our bodyguards looked as violent as the men who attacked us,” said the priest and sighed. “What is to stop them from turning their sharp swords on us if they feel like it?”
“They won’t do that,” protested Pedro. “Loyalty is very important to the samurai. Once they enter our service they won’t turn against us.”
“Ah, but what people say and what they do are quite different,” said Father Luis. “The samurai are all so cruel! Remember the man we saw last week who cut off the head of a peasant because he didn’t bow down fast enough?”
“Not all of the samurai are cruel,” said Pedro. He rather liked the two bodyguards and hoped to make them his friends. “That man Zenta could have killed his opponent yesterday, but instead he only cut off the man’s topknot. It was a feat much more difficult to perform.”
“His skill with the sword proves that he is a man of war at heart,” said the priest. “The common people in Japan are the gentlest and most courteous in the world, but the warriors are like another race. I sometimes wonder if I shall ever make Christians of them.”
Pedro knew what Father Luis meant. He had once seen a samurai use his sword on a man just to test its sharpness. But he also found much to admire in the warrior class. The best of the samurai had a very strict code of honor, and they possessed a personal integrity often superior to that of the warlords who employed them.
“There is cruelty in Europe as well,” Pedro pointed out. “I have seen Protestants and Catholics slaughtering each other, and I have seen babies hacked to pieces in front of their mothers’ eyes.” He had served as a mercenary soldier in the religious wars ravaging Europe, and some of the atrocities had sickened him.
“Rooting out heresy is not a matter for us to question, Pedro,” said Father Luis heavily. His glance was both affectionate and anxious. “I know that you are devout, in spite of the bluff soldierly manner you like to put on. But Pedro, you should watch your tongue when you return to Europe. Otherwise you might be suspected of heresy.”
“In that case I may decide to remain in Japan,” said Pedro lightly. “I can make my living manufacturing guns for the warlords here, and then I shall marry and start a family. There are some beautiful women in this country. Did you see that lady in the sedan chair?”
“Pedro!” exclaimed Father Luis. “Are you mad? Remember how furious those samurai were when you merely bumped into her sedan chair!”
“Don’t worry, Father. I was merely joking,” said Pedro. “I know better than to look at Lady Yuki. Besides, her father is already arranging a marriage for her with a nobleman of the imperial court, although from what I hear, she isn’t very enthusiastic about the match.”
Father Luis stared at Pedro in surprise. “How did you find out all this? Lord Fujikawa hates us, and we have no social contact with the people next door.”
“I get my news from our recent convert, the girl we christened Maria,” explained Pedro. “After she left Lord Fujikawa’s household, she kept in touch with her friend Chiyo who is still working there. The two girls have discovered a weak place in the fence which separates our garden from Lord Fujikawa’s. The twine that bound the bamboo fence has rotted, and Chiyo had the id
ea of tying it back in slipknots. In this way they can unfasten the fence when no one is looking and pass back and forth to exchange news.”
Father Luis frowned. “I don’t like this, Pedro. If Lord Fujikawa finds out, he will accuse us of spying on him. Not only that, Chiyo might learn something about us which she could distort and repeat back to her master.”
“Chiyo wouldn’t do that,” said Pedro. “She is betrothed to Hambei, who is Nobunaga’s man. According to Maria, she is quite sympathetic to us.”
“I still think it’s dangerous for the two girls to continue,” insisted Father Luis. “You must have the fence mended at once.”
“All right, I’ll see to it immediately,” said Pedro. He knew that the girls were playing a dangerous game, but he had been reluctant to put a stop to it because Maria was rather lost in her strange new life and it raised her spirits to meet her old friend.
Taking leave of Father Luis, Pedro started for the garden. On the way something happened which caused him to forget the fence. Passing by the storeroom, he decided to enter and check for rust on his guns, for Miyako summers were humid, and great care had to be taken to prevent rust.
As soon as he opened the gun cupboard he realized that something was wrong. He usually kept three guns in the cupboard, and now there were only two. Pushing the sliding door all the way open, he groped frantically inside, but there was no mistake. One of the guns was missing.
What made Pedro particularly furious was that the missing gun was a very rare and new model with a rifled bore. This was a fairly recent invention, giving the bullet a spin which cut down the deflection from the line of aim. As a result, the gun could be fired with much greater accuracy. Pedro had gone to great trouble and expense to acquire this weapon, and he had already promised to bring it to Nobunaga at his next audience with him. Now it was stolen, and it might be months before a merchant ship from Europe could bring another one.
The Samurai and the Long-Nosed Devils Page 3
