Lieutenant Juan Cardona stood on Fort Santiago's westernmost ramparts, the Baluarte de Santa Barbara. He peered through a spyglass, ignoring the wind that whipped against his cloak. Yes, there it was, his eyes had not deceived him. A signal fire had been lit on the top of the island of Corregidor, thirty miles west of Manila, at the entrance of Manila Bay. That solitary blaze indicated that a Chinese ship was approaching.
After a few hours, the junk itself came into sight, the watchman's little escort boat following it like a small child walking a very large dog. The two were making reasonably good time. While the northeast monsoon sometimes blew strongly out of the bay, as it had that morning, it was afternoon now, and there was a helpful sea breeze from the southwest. The tide was also in their favor.
The visitor was a large junk, with two masts and ten cannon, but that wasn't what made it noteworthy. It wasn't a Chinese trader after all; the banner it flew over its stern proclaimed it to be a "red seal" ship, that is, a Japanese vessel traveling under the license of the Shogun.
"Sergeant!" Juan shouted.
"Sir!"
"I am off to see the castellan, take my spyglass--he handed the instrument to the sergeant--"and send me word if it changes course."
"Yes, sir."
∞ ∞ ∞
The Casa del Castellano was near the north wall of the fort, between the Baluarte de Santa Barbara and the Baluarte de San Francisco, and it overlooked the Plaza Armas, where the troops would be assembled for review. It was two stories, built of stone with a red tile roof. Only the upper floor had windows.
Juan nodded to the sentry and went up the steps to the office of the castellan of Fort Santiago, Lucas de Vergara Gavira. He was greeted by the castellan's aide, Alonzo, and Juan told him the reason for the visit. Juan was quickly ushered in. The castellan's desk was to Juan's left, facing the center of the room. Directly across from Juan were two windows, and between them was a large gold cross. On the wall to Juan's right was a Chinese silk hanging, a portrait of King Philip III, and two crossed swords. Papers were piled on top of the castellan's desk and also on the vargueno cabinet to one side, which was made of the native tanguile.
The castellan motioned for Juan to take a seat.
"A red seal ship?" Gavira exclaimed. "How extraordinary! No such vessel has been seen in Manila harbor, since, oh, 1630."
"I wouldn't know, sir," said Juan. "I came over on the Capitana San Ignacio, in July 1629, but I went down to Ternate with the relief company in November of that year and didn't return here until 1632."
"Well, it would be good for the economy if the Japanese resumed trade here. The governor will want to be informed."
"Should I go to him, sir?"
"No, you had best return to your post. I will send messengers." Gavira rummaged through his papers until he found several blank sheets and set out a quill and ink bottle.
"Alonzo!" he shouted.
The aide poked his head into the room. "Sir?"
"I need two messengers."
"On it, sir."
Juan fidgeted, not sure whether he was free to go or not.
By the time Gavira had finished writing, the messengers were at his door.
"Take these!" he said to them. "They are identical; one is for the governor and the other for Fray Jeronimo Medrano, the Provincial Superior of the Augustinians."
"Why the Augustinians, sir?"
"We need someone who can translate Japanese," said Gavira. "And the Augustinians are the senior order in Manila. They would complain if we asked for aid from any other clergy. Especially the Jesuits...."
He shook his head.
"You had best return to your duties— Wait a moment. Since you spotted the red seal ship, you should have the honor of greeting it. Go to the Puerta Almacenes, and I will have the translator sent to meet you. And I will have another officer take up the rest of your shift at Santa Barbara. Keep me informed."
∞ ∞ ∞
The Japanese ship anchored short of the bar in front of the Pasig river. The guard ship continued on, docking close to the Puerta Almacenes, the river gate nearest Fort Santiago.
Juan borrowed a spyglass from the sergeant of the gate and studied the Japanese junk. At this close range, he noticed that, compared to the Chinese junks that were frequent visitors to Manila, it had little cargo but a large crew on its deck, and he wondered what this might signify.
Turning his scope on the guard boat, Juan could see that a Spanish corporal was disembarking, presumably to make his report to the fort. Well, there was more to be gained by studying the junk. Juan continued his telescopic study of the Japanese vessel until he heard the corporal hail the fort. Juan handed the scope back to the sergeant, and the corporal saluted Juan.
"The sergeant of Corregidor sends his respects, and has instructed me to report on the reason for the arrival of this Japanese vessel, the Asahi Maru."
"Please proceed," said Juan.
"The Asahi Maru is not here to trade. It carries a diplomatic mission, led by the new daimyo of Arima, and a high shogunate official. They have come, they say, to talk about the circumstances under which Spanish ships might once again trade in Nagasaki."
"And how do you know this? Do you speak Japanese?" asked Juan, eyebrows raised.
"They brought a Dutch translator with them," the corporal admitted. 'They also have letters of introduction, under seal."
"I see...."Juan turned around and saw that the Augustinian translator had arrived and was waiting patiently. He wore a simple black cassock.
"Father ..."
"Diaz. Father Diaz."
"You speak Japanese?
"I do. I minister to the Japanese in the Dilao."
"Excellent. You will come with me." He turned back to the corporal. "Take me to the Asahi Maru."
∞ ∞ ∞
"I am the senior retainer to my Lord Arima," said one of the Japanese. His words were translated by the Dutchman, with the Augustinian listening closely to keep the Dutchman honest. "As I hope you have been informed, we are here to discuss possible new trade relationships. I remind you that he is a daimyo"--the interpreter explained that this meant "great lord"--"and he expects that he and his staff would be housed within the Intramuros, the Walled City of Manila, in a home suitable for his rank, and not consigned like a merchant to stay in the Parian or the Dilao, outside the city."
Juan bowed. "I welcome him in the name of the Governor-General of the Philippines and the castellan of Fort Santiago. I will convey the lord's wishes to the governor-general. In the meantime, you will need to remain on your vessel, but I can have food and drink delivered to you."
"That would be appreciated," said the retainer.
∞ ∞ ∞
Juan returned to Gavira's office to report the latest developments and hand over the letters. Juan asked, "Would you like me to take this news to the governor, sir?"
"What's that? No, no, I will do it." He called out to his aide, "Alonzo, I need my dress uniform."
He looked at Juan. "Since you spoke to the emissary's retainer, I guess you had best come along. But let me do the talking, unless the governor or I invite you to speak. And even then, keep your remarks short and to the point."
∞ ∞ ∞
As the castellan of Fort Santiago, Gavira had the privilege of immediate audience with the interim Governor-General of the Philippines, Juan Cerezo de Salamanca. In sharp contrast to the clutter on Gavira's desk, Salamanca's was virtually bare. Juan Cardona, who followed Gavira into Salamanca's office, did not know whether this was testament to his efficiency or to a knack for avoiding work. Salamanca had taken office less than a year ago, and he and Juan didn't exactly move in the same circles.
"Hmmph..." said Salamanca. "I don't want to offer a discourtesy, especially at the start of a possibly historic embassy, but ..." He spread his hands.
Gavira nodded. "But there are obvious security issues with allowing a couple of hundred Japanese into the sanctum of Intramuros. Why, Spanish law doesn't e
ven allow the Chinese and Japanese of Manila to be in the Intramuros between sunset and sunrise."
That was true, Juan thought, although the authorities looked the other way when the leading citizens kept Chinese servants overnight, as long as they stayed inside rather than roaming the streets at night.
"And the confounded Japanese samurai will insist on keeping their swords with them," Gavira added glumly.
∞ ∞ ∞
After consulting with Gavira and other advisers, the governor gave permission for the daimyo to pick twenty retainers to reside with him in Intramuros. The remainder could stay in the Chinese Parian or the Japanese Dilao, and the sailors could take the Asahi Maru to the port of Cavite, seven miles southwest of Manila.
Juan was directed to so inform the Japanese. They weren't happy, but at last they agreed.
∞ ∞ ∞
With a huff, the two porters lowered the sedan chair to the ground, facing the Puerta Almacenes, the Warehouse Gate. The sedan chair in question was not the fanciest sort, with an enclosed cabin and curtains, but it did have a V-shaped roof, made of straw on a bamboo frame, which rested on the heavy bamboo carrying pole, and a chair rather than a mere basket. The chair proper was suspended from the pole, and could rock back and forth as the occupant was carried to his destination.
From the dubious comfort of the grounded sedan chair, Hattori Momochi watched impassively as the Spanish military escort formed a double line, creating a lane of honor leading to the gate. He studied the gate and the surrounding battlements closely.
A cannon boomed from the nearest bastion, beginning what was plainly a salute. Hattori Momochi started counting silently. The cannon boomed again, and Hattori made a mental note of the time interval the Spanish needed for reloading. White smoke rose from the bastion and dispersed.
The gate opened, and an officer stepped forward. "I am Lieutenant Francesco de Gallardo, commander of the First Company. I welcome you to the Intramuros. I will take you to the quarters that have been assigned to you."
Hattori's interpreter thanked the officer, and Hattori made a hand signal. The porters heaved up the sedan chair, causing the chair to swing violently for a moment, and rested the carrying pole on their shoulders.
Preceded by an honor guard from the First Company, Lieutenant de Gallardo, and two retainers carrying ornamental pikes, and followed by the rest of Hattori's retainers and bearers, Hattori's sedan chair made its way down the lane of honor and through the gate.
Hattori tried to hold his breath as long as he could. He couldn't decide which was worse, the stench of the unwashed common soldiers, or that same stench overlaid by the strong perfume, of Javan frankincense perhaps, favored by Lieutenant de Gallardo. Hattori earnestly hoped that the quarters the delegation had been promised would include a proper bath, but he wasn't counting on it.
The procession turned and made its way down to the Plaza Mayor. There it halted, giving the chair-men a chance to rest. Lieutenant de Gallardo walked over to Hattori and told him, 'This is the main square. On the east side we have the Manila Cathedral, and to the north the Palacio Real o Casas del Cabildo, where you will meet with the governor."
Hearing the translation, Hattori gave a polite nod. After more delay than he thought necessary, Lieutenant de Gallardo gave the command for the procession to continue. It made several turns, all of which Hattori memorized, until at last they reached their immediate destination, the vacant Intramuros home that had been put at his disposal.
Once the sedan chair was once again grounded, the bearers bowed deeply, and Hattori stood up. He stretched himself and wondered what the Spanish lieutenant made of what was probably his first sight of a daimyo's kami-shimo. This consisted of a formal silk kimono, the hakama, a divided skirt made of a heavy cloth, and the kataginu, an over-jacket with stiffened shoulders that extended several inches out from his body. The narrow suspenders of the kataginu and the sleeves of the kimono were marked with the Arima kamon, a black five-petaled flower.
∞ ∞ ∞
Inspecting his new quarters, Hattori found it to be a courtyard house with two stories, the lower of stone and the upper of wood, with a red tile roof. Back home, an inn would have a tsubo, a walled garden, but the courtyard here was fill of weeds. Plainly, this home had been vacant for quite a while.
Servants bustled about, bringing the baggage into the guest house and placing it as directed by Hattori's senior retainers. The baggage was in lacquered wooden boxes or bamboo baskets, marked with the same kamon.
Looking out from the balcony of the second story, Hattori, saw that Spanish guards were discreetly posted outside the entrance to the house and at the two adjacent street corners. He shrugged. They could easily be evaded, or dealt with, when the time for action came.
Chapter 3
Juan and two of his fellow lieutenants, Francesco and Hernando, met at sunset at the Plaza Mayor, the main square of the walled portion of the city.
Juan and Hernando had come over on the same ship and had became friends while at sea. Francesco had joined the Manila garrison several years earlier, and had "shown them the ropes." All three were off duty now.
Filipino servants walked on the cobblestone streets surrounding the square, many carrying jugs or baskets on their heads as they took goods back to their households. With the last rays of the setting sun shining on the white adobe of the cathedral, the stone seemed to be glowing gold. In the cathedral, vespers should have begun. The choir would be chanting, Deus, in adiutorium meum intende. "O God, come to my assistance."
"I must say I am envious of you both," complained Hernando. "Juan is the first in the garrison to spot the Asahi Maru and to report it to the governor."
"I was just lucky," said Juan. "And Gavira took most of the credit."
Hernando continued fulminating. "And Francesco, he gets to escort the Japanese lord into the Intramuros. The escort duty should have been my assignment. My company has responsibility for the river side."
"Or it should have been mine," protested Juan, "since I was the first officer to greet the Japanese lord and had thus already established a relationship."
Francesco shrugged. "I am a nobleman, and you are merely gentlemen. Rank hath its privileges. Get over it."
"It would help, Oh Exalted One, if you would buy us some wine."
"Very well..." said Francesco.
Several rounds later, Hernando told Juan, "This little trifle aside, you've been way too cheerful lately," Hernando told Juan. "What's going on?"
"I think he has met a senorita," said Francesco. "Isn't that right, Juan?"
Juan shrugged.
"Don't hold out on us, Juan!" Hernando urged.
Juan blushed. "Well, yes, I suppose I have."
"You blush like a girl," snickered Hernando.
Never mind that," said Francesco. "Tell us what she looks like!"
"Well, she is shorter than me, with alabaster skin, a small mouth with ruby lips and pearly teeth. She has raven-dark hair and ... large, almond-shaped eyes...." He gave them a challenging stare.
Hernando's own eyes widened. "She's Asian?"
"Chinese," Juan admitted.
"Where does she live?" Francesco asked.
"In the Parian."
"You can't be serious," Francesco told Juan. "You can't court a Chinese girl who isn't even a Christian."
"I don't know for sure she isn't Christian."
"She's living in the Parian, isn't she? If she were Christian, she'd have been moved to Binondo. So she wouldn't backslide into paganism."
"I didn't know there even were any Sangley girls in the Parian," their friend and fellow soldier, Hernando, added. "It's mostly young fellows out to make a quick buck. By cheating us, of course."
"My point," Francesco continued, "is that you can't trust her."
"He's right," said Hernando. "Bed her, and one morning, you'll wake up with your throat slit."
Juan chuckled. "If my throat's been cut, exactly how will I wake up?" Hernando made a
face.
"And even if you could trust her," Francesco continued, "you couldn't marry her. Unless she was willing to convert, of course."
"If you're feeling frustrated," said Hernando, "just pick out an indio wench or two. You can buy one of the lower class for a pittance. She'll provide you with everything the Sangley could, and at no risk."
"Except clap," said Francesco.
"What either of you know about women could be written on the nail of my pinkie," said Juan.
A few days later....
What, wondered Yosioka Kuzaemon, was the proper form of address, in private, to a jonin, a ninja leader, who was disguised as a daimyo?
He decided to err on the side of caution. Putting his hand in front of his mouth, as it would be improper to breathe on a superior, he said, "Obugyo-sama." That is, "my lord official."
Hattori Momochi, still wearing the formal kama-shima, gestured for Yosioka to make himself comfortable.
Yosioka folded his feet beneath him. To make the room homier, some tatami mats had been spread out. And to preserve the proper degrees of respect, Hottori's servants had brought a platform whose sole purpose was to elevate Hattori a few inches above the floor.
A scroll depicting a seascape had been hung on a wall so as to provide a focus for artistic appreciation. As Hattori's most important guest, Yosioka sat with his back to the scroll, just as he would have were it properly displaced in a tokonoma, an alcove, back in Japan. The only other man in the makeshift audience room was Norihiro, a chunin, or subleader of the ninja, and he sat where he could keep an eye on the entrance to the room as well as its only window, which was shuttered closed.
"I think we have made a good beginning," said Hattori. "The governor seems impressed by our show of friendship."
"Hide a knife behind a smile," quoted Kuzaemon. It was one of the thirty-six stratagems from the Book of Qi.
"Our immediate goal," Hattori continued, "is to determine what changes of military importance have occurred since you were last here." Kuzaemon had been with the delegation sent by Matsukura Shigemasa in 1630, ostensibly to negotiate over the Siam incident, but in actuality to collect intelligence for a proposed invasion. "Then we can decide where best to strike."
The Chrysanthemum, the Cross, and the Dragon Page 2
