The request was part of a political maneuver by the Jesuits to punish a Japanese lord—Ōmura Sumitada, in whose territory Nagasaki was—for not being accommodating enough to their mission, by denying him the massive taxes, weaponry, revenues and honor he would have earned through hosting Valignano and the heavily laden Portuguese vessel. Instead, all that was now to anchor in the smaller port of Kuchinotsu, in a rival local domain. There, the mission superior, and a more “cooperative” Japanese lord—one desperate for the arms, and ready to agree to just about anything for them—would greet the Visitor and his team.
Yasuke and the other Jesuit attendants exchanged knowing looks as Valignano considered, then agreed. The switch meant another day of travel.
They were all getting another lesson in patience.
* * *
Yasuke was in his early twenties, no more than twenty-three.
He’d been a soldier for half his life, visited a dozen sultanates, kingdoms and empires. A young warrior who knew himself and more of the world than most ever do.
He was a very tall man, six-two or more—a giant for his time, comparable to meeting a seven-footer by today’s standards. He was also muscular by the standards of any day, thanks to relentless military drill and a childhood, and lineage, built on a diet of abundant meat and dairy.
Arriving in Japan, Yasuke’s eclectic attire revealed his familiarity with a much wider world. He was primarily dressed, quite smartly, in Portuguese clothing—baggy pantaloons to stop mosquito bites, a cotton shirt with a wide flat collar, a stylish doublet of dark velvet. But he carried a tall spear from India, its blade crafted into an unusual wavy shape with two “blood grooves” cut into the steel to make the blade lighter while still sturdy. He also carried a short curved Arab dagger at his side; both weapons shone like mirrors with constant attention from Yasuke’s whetstone. His dark head was wrapped in a stark white turban-like cloth to protect it from the sun.
This was not, clearly from his garb alone, Yasuke’s first arrival somewhere new, someplace utterly foreign. He was, rather, an experienced and well-traveled man in an ever-shrinking world.
He’d been on the move since he was a boy. From the swamps and plains of his birthplace on the banks of the Nile, to the mountains and deserts of northeast Africa, the fertile coasts of the Arabs, dusty Sind and the green of Gujarat. He’d likely fought alongside, and against, Hindus, Muslims, Africans, Turks, Persians and Europeans, and escaped death as a teenage soldier countless times before being employed by Valignano in Goa. The abducted child soldier was now simply the soldier. Well trained in weapons, strategy and security. Even, thanks to time spent beside leaders from several cultures, conversant in diplomacy. His experience and skills were of a caliber sought across the whole world, highly in demand among the rich and powerful.
This unexplored Japão (as the Portuguese called it) was merely the next place he was to be for some time as he put those same skills to work and did the job of protecting an employer and staying alive. The tide, he understood, must be taken when it comes.
* * *
The ship reached its new anchorage at midday.
Dark birds of prey and white seabirds swooped together overhead as the crew trimmed the sails. Yasuke and the Jesuits, free from any such responsibilities, lined the rails together to stare out at this nation of green forest and grey rock. The smells of land—rotting fish, moist dirt, sweating forests, drying seaweed and damp leaves—filled the stifling air for the first time in nearly a month. It was a fine substitute for the familiar sour stench of unwashed men. (Neither the multinational crew nor the Jesuits ever bathed; once a year if absolutely necessary was quite enough, for bathing—as everyone in civilized Europe knew—encouraged disease and licentiousness.)
View of Kuchinotsu Harbor in the late nineteenth century.
The seaboard of Kuchinotsu was remarkably deceptive, presenting the appearance of a flat and narrow landscape. Mostly low craggy shores and thick forest. It was not until the Portuguese ship swung to port round the slight bend of land and finally turned into the narrow harbor that Yasuke saw the real Japan.
The bay opening before them was massive, and immense mountains loomed behind it like crouching gods. Beyond the peaks, initially appearing to be low-hanging clouds, were more towering ridges. The deeper the ship sailed into harbor, the more the Japanese backdrop expanded in the distance, slow slopes rising from the beaches and merging into those faraway mountains, seemingly stretching north without end. Anything could be awaiting them there. Anything at all.
The Portuguese ship was, in 1579, one of the largest in the entire world. At around five hundred tons, she was built to hold vast cargoes and not for speed; looking neither sleek nor deadly, but showcasing unequalled bulk. The kind of craft people journeyed for miles to gaze at, that rulers dreamed of taking for their own. It was easily the biggest ship in the harbor by several times, the second biggest being a Chinese junk, of not much more than one hundred tons, loading sulfur. Now having dropped the longboats, the Portuguese ship was being towed toward land along glassy indigo water, the sailors straining at the oars. The hard work done, a hush fell over the crew remaining aboard and only the rigging’s harping and the gentle swash beneath the stern could be heard. Dozens of Japanese fishing boats and smaller coastal merchant ships scattered aside for the approaching Portuguese vessel, then fell in line behind to follow in its wake like ducklings trailing after their mother. Except for the tired weather-greyed sail, the European craft was entirely black—a consequence of the dark and hard local wood used by the shipyards in India where it had been constructed. She, and her many sisters, would forever after be known in Japan as “The Black Ships.”
The channel was shoaling fast and the Portuguese captain, Leonel de Brito, shouted and cursed into the strange new quiet to confirm the line of deepest water. De Brito came from an old and influential Portuguese family, and was making a fortune as the ship’s captain, an appointment from the King of Portugal himself. He shot a livid look at Yasuke as he passed, blaming everyone in the Jesuit party for today’s outrage. The captain was still furious with the change in plans as Nagasaki was a known and trusted port, while Kuchinotsu hadn’t been visited for more than a decade, and the Chinese pilot employed to direct the ship was clearly unsure about the ideal spot for mooring. The pilot was suspicious of how shallow the harbor might be and continually had his assistant at work with the plumb line. Despite his blue Portuguese blood balking at taking orders, Captain de Brito knew the best thing was to follow the Chinese pilot’s advice, having learned to respect the skill of the Chinese mariners since arriving in the East. They finally dropped anchor amid fresh shouts of crew, pilot and captain alike as the ship swung round to the wind and tide and the longboats disengaged from towing duty and were prepared for disembarking.
Yasuke scanned the landing area. Valignano and the Jesuits were debarking in a trusted and safe port, yes, but their ally and host, Arima Harunobu, was surrounded by enemies. The Japanese lords to the north, under the leadership of Ryūzōji Takanobu, were at war with those like Arima who’d sought, and gained, an alliance with the Europeans by accepting their strange new religion.
A typical small port—declined some recently thanks to Nagasaki’s emergence as the foremost anchorage of the eastern region—Kuchinotsu looked like a hundred other such refuges dotted along the seaboards of Japan. In mountainous and war-ridden islands like these, most goods and people traveled by coastal boats, not by land. The Kuchinotsu beach led up from the sea to the town and then to the greenery and mountains looming above. Fresh sea breezes nodded the tall grasses edging the port. The town comprised maybe sixty wooden buildings with thatch or tiled roofs; none were made of stone. Cove paths snaked between wooden houses, bamboo huts and larger wooden temples, decorated for the arrival. They’d anticipated Valignano’s acceptance of the change of port.
A large welcome party was gathered ashore. A comb
ination of missionaries, the local lord, his entourage, villagers, eager merchants who’d gotten wind of the change in destination, and the curious. As many as six or seven hundred, it appeared, amid large tents pitched for the occasion and adorned with flapping banners sporting the symbol of the Arima clan. (A blooming flower nested between five larger petals; a design markedly similar to the crest Yasuke himself would one day be sworn under.)
The Jesuit missionaries and their attendants fumbled slowly down the side of the ship into a single longboat, their long black robes hoisted and tied at the waist to enable better movement. Yasuke next passed down his spear and climbed in after the missionaries, each gentle swell lifting the boat against the ship as men fought to fend off the larger vessel. Valignano was the last to join the party, lowered down in a chair by two burly sailors, then taking a seat in the front of the boat facing shoreward ahead of Yasuke, who stood guard behind him.
In India, Yasuke had worked for men who favored their security hidden, defenders blending into the surroundings so the enemy never knew where the true danger and defense lay. Not Valignano. He wanted his security seen by all would-be thieves or assassins. It was clearly part of why he’d selected Yasuke from all the other potential guards; with his dark skin color and giant frame, potential enemies would see him coming and stay clear. Lions normally went for the easiest prey and often tracked their kill for days, carefully selecting the weakest member of the herd. With Yasuke always beside him, the most important Catholic in Asia would never present such weakness.
Thus, Yasuke stood balanced near the front of the rowboat directly behind Valignano, holding himself as gracefully as he could manage, wielding his tall spear. Behind him, two Jesuits struggled as the bracing sea wind threatened to tear their devotional banners from strong grasps. Japanese merchant and fishing boats bobbed all around them, their work delayed to scrutinize the newcomers. In contrast to the local boats in the bay (propelled by men standing and facing forward), the Portuguese longboats were being rowed “backward” with the rowers’ backs to their destination.
Many of the Japanese fishermen and sailors in the surrounding boats sported simple wooden crucifixes and bowed their heads deeply as Valignano and the longboat passed. While a port town, few were accustomed to seeing such a group as this: a half-dozen European men seated in long black robes despite the heat, several holding up tall cross-topped standards, the foreign symbols IHS prominent on the banners; and then the largest man among them, the giant Yasuke.
An odd sound drifted out to Yasuke and the others on the warm wind. As they drew nearer, it became music. A choir of the converted Japanese singing onshore. And closer still, a specific hymn revealed itself to the approaching longboat: “Te Deum Laudamus,” one of the Jesuits determined in surprise. The same hymn chanted so jubilantly when Joan of Arc and the French army liberated Orléans from English rule. The Latin words were now muffled by tongues unfamiliar with the language but distinct enough to bring, as hoped by the Jesuits waiting ashore, recognition and a brief satisfied remark from Valignano.
The first Jesuit missionaries had reached Japan almost thirty years before to the day, and more had continued arriving ever since. To build churches, hospitals and orphanages and to befriend as many local lords as possible as they worked to convert tens of thousands of Japanese to Christianity. The Kuchinotsu area had been Catholic territory for years, and dozens of the keenest faithful waded into the ocean up to their chests, still singing, to welcome their holy visitor. The Pope’s, and hence God’s, direct representative on earth had come to grace them with his presence and bring them closer to the divine. Thus, Valignano himself held demi-godlike status in their eyes.
The choir’s voices grew quicker, both anxious and joyful, as other men took hold of the nearly beached longboat and, ignoring the confused oarsmen, hauled the boat up so the Jesuits could step ashore without getting wet.
Valignano gave blessings in Latin as the boat lurched to a stop, its back end still lifting gently on a swell as he stood. His arrival in Japan was the end of a six-year journey from Rome, via Portugal, Mozambique, India, Melaka and Macao. Throughout, there’d been stops and starts, successes and failures, and, above all, numerous prayers and blessings—in many languages—to worship, ward off evil and even preserve life.
Meanwhile, Yasuke again scanned the crowd of ragged peasants, stylish traders and weatherworn fishermen gathered around the tented pavilion. Looking for choke points, avenues of escape, prepared and ready for anything that might happen next. The approaching welcoming committee consisted mostly of village notables and merchants, who’d been awaiting the holy ship for days, everyone outfitted in their best garb. Senior warriors in light summer kimonos of cotton and silk, and topknots, with two swords thrust through their belts; and the Japanese, Chinese, European and Indian Jesuits sweating in their long dark robes.
The Japanese, he noted, were smaller than the Chinese he’d recently spent months with, and he’d many times heard Chinese refer to their island neighbors as dwarves. (The original character the Chinese used for “Japanese” was often translated as short person or dwarf.) Their average height was just under five feet.
Still, size notwithstanding, a line of formidable-looking warriors stood in differing brightly colored garb, their muskets, spears and other fearsome-looking pole weapons grounded. The first Jesuits to arrive in Japan had commented they’d never before seen “people who rely so much on their arms” and the few Japanese men Yasuke had encountered in Macao were almost always armed with two swords, one long and one short, and walked with a self-possessed and unique swagger. Now, he was on an island filled with millions of such armed men, where to be a warrior was an honor and an aspiration. He knew the highest-ranked of the armed warriors here were called samurai, elite and revered battle-hardened killers, a station or more above the common soldier. Another security concern they’d not had in China, where soldiers were looked down upon as ruffians and troublemakers and normally only combatants on a battlefield carried weapons. In Japan, warriors were the pinnacles of society and virtually all men bore some kind of weapon in daily life.
Armed or not, all here today had officially come to see this magnificent ship, get their hands on her trade cargo and to pay respects to Valignano. If a more important person had ever visited this rural backwater port, no one could remember who it had been. Beside his grand title, “Visitor to the Indies,” Valignano had been born into power as an aristocrat and held himself like one. He had a worldwide repute of “magnificence.” The Visitor was also a head taller than everyone, aside from Yasuke, and commanded easily with only stern looks that conveyed both brilliance and confidence. He was, in all ways, the kind of man people journeyed for miles to look at.
From a security standpoint, Valignano and this entire mission was a challenge. Japan was a country embroiled in civil war and division, hence the weapons, and the region they now entered was half controlled by enemies of the Church. Only the previous year, the Jesuits had backed the wrong side in a battle in a nearby domain and barely escaped with their lives. Valignano was a prime assassination target for an enemy power wanting an easy and potently symbolic victory.
While those territories further inland and north were largely unfocused on matters involving Catholics and their new local allies—the rival powers on the coasts of southern Japan knew perfectly well when and where the Pope’s Visitor was arriving. Also, the geography offered few avenues of escape, and Valignano would meet many anti-Catholics during his lengthy stay. Still, despite the risks, he planned to remain for many years.
Lord Arima Harunobu—the boy ruler of Arima where Kuchinotsu was located—waited at the very front of the welcoming crowd. Several of the mission’s Jesuits stood to his right, the Japanese lord’s own attendants to the youth’s left. Arima had just turned twelve, about the same age as Yasuke when he had likely first been enslaved and forced into slave-soldiery. If Arima were seven or a hundred though, the on
ly concern now was whether the Japanese lord could successfully help protect the Jesuits.
Arima was—fortunately, to offset his youth—tall for his age, but slender with a thin mustache and a chiseled face that was feminine or, perhaps, even angelic. This youthful, ambitious, but lesser-ranked lord had barely brought enough guards and attendants from his castle seven miles away to make a proper showing along his own seashore that day. Even so, it was a massive risk. His castle was under siege and they’d had to leave quietly by night, their oars muffled as they glided quietly past the dozing besieging forces. A gamble worth taking to secure the goodwill of Valignano and the prizes attendant upon it. To see Lord Arima typically meant a one-day journey by boat around the coast, but for Valignano, the young warlord had been the one to make the trip. This arrival was perhaps the biggest event in his domain’s history and the young lord’s growing alliance with the Catholics was key to ensuring his survival and any greater aspirations for the future.
Yasuke vaulted over the side of the boat and the crowd of well-wishers who’d pulled the boat ashore melted back. The purpose of his fearsome spear, and the blade at his side, wedged into and held by his belt, was clear for all to see. The mercenary welcomed their stares and evident awe. Valignano was again getting his money’s worth. Yasuke knew Valignano had employed him mostly for his size, a built-in intimidation factor beyond the mere fighting skills the African warrior had acquired in a lifetime of bloodshed.
Yasuke: In Search of the African Samurai Page 2
