The door opened to reveal Nobunaga’s guards, the street behind them clear beyond a few bodies still writhing in agony, and the dust of thousands of retreating feet. The cavalryman—lightly armored for policing duties, not battle—bowed briefly to the priests from his saddle. There were two swords thrust into the sash at his waist.
“Yes.” Father Organtino, the head of the mission, spoke in superb Japanese. “How may we serve, officer?”
And then the order: “Lord Nobunaga will see him.”
“Yes,” Organtino replied. “Father Valignano and I have been granted an audience—”
“No.” The captain shook his head. “Him.” He’d pointed behind the priests, and the missionaries all turned to Yasuke who stood at attention, rigid, eyes forward gazing only at the churning dust outside.
In shock at his deliverance, his heart finally slowing again, Yasuke was now calm enough to appreciate what had just happened. Thousands of people made to vanish in minutes by only a few sticks and the painted crest of one man.
“His Highness requests the pleasure of this man’s presence,” the soldier clarified again, more politely. “He desires to see what disturbs his peace.”
Valignano kept his face serene, emotionless, unreadable. Their eyes met for only an instant. But was it triumph or jealousy Yasuke saw reflected there?
“Shouchi itashimashita.” Yasuke shifted his gaze to meet the soldier’s fierce stare and gave a deep judicious bow. I hear and obey.
Chapter Nine
Tenka Fuba
Lord Oda Nobunaga, as with many who’ve reached such heights of power, was not known for his abundant patience. Yasuke was expected immediately.
It was only a five-minute hike from the Jesuit church to Nobunaga’s current headquarters at the Honnō-ji Temple—a large walled Buddhist compound Nobunaga had commandeered a year before after he’d piously, and shrewdly, donated his own lavish Kyoto residence, the Nijō Palace, for the use of the imperial family.
Valignano and the others had not been invited.
In short order, fresh clothes were found to replace Yasuke’s ripped garments—not an easy task considering his size—and then just as quickly, Yasuke and Father Organtino, a longtime acquaintance of Nobunaga and the obvious Jesuit to accompany him, were hurrying out the gates and following Nobunaga’s men.
In deference, as no guest dare appear before Nobunaga armed, Yasuke’s weapons were left back at the church. It was the first time Yasuke had been unarmed in more than a decade. Replacing his customary spear was only his trust in Father Organtino, a man he’d met moments before.
Gnecchi Soldo Organtino, another Italian, had been in Japan for eleven years, living almost that entire time in Kyoto, and was now the lead Jesuit in the capital region. He’d seen the dawn of Nobunaga’s power firsthand and had become the Oda lord’s main Jesuit confidant. Their conversations were wide-ranging and deep; he taught Nobunaga the use of a globe and other innovative instruments and Organtino had always been impressed with Nobunaga’s keen intelligence and ability to quickly grasp new concepts. Something approaching a real friendship had developed between the two men, and it was through the Jesuit that Nobunaga’s respect for the western foreigners developed. When Father Organtino asked for permission to build a new seminary in Azuchi, Nobunaga’s primary city, Nobunaga had agreed promptly and the Jesuit had transferred to Azuchi to supervise its building and act as its first head.
Along with his mentor, Fróis, Organtino was considered the best linguist among the foreign Jesuits. He was also the architect of the church in Kyoto and must have been very relieved to be escorting Yasuke, whose riot had nearly destroyed it, away from his life’s work. The previous day, he and his seminary students had been in Takatsuki astounding their audience with Latin hymns for Easter. Now, Organtino walked the short distance to an audience with his friend, Nobunaga, escorting Yasuke. There could have been no one better to introduce the African warrior to the man whom the Jesuits called, somewhat erroneously, “The King of Japan.”
Nobunaga’s men led the way on horseback. The bright multicolored ribbons which entwined the horses’ tails and then attached to the back of the riders’ saddles seemed to lead Yasuke onward. A dozen more foot soldiers marched directly behind him and Organtino, their armor clinking and their straw sandals scuffing on the hard mud of the street. Ordinarily, a supplicant granted an audience was required to bring breathtaking gifts to be presented through an official go-between. But Yasuke had nothing, and there was no time to worry about formality. This was an official summons.
From the mounted soldiers, whom he’d dealt with many times before, Organtino elicited some more information in preparation for the audience. It was best, whenever possible, to know what Nobunaga wanted long before being directly asked. It seemed Nobunaga himself had noticed the commotion Yasuke’s arrival had caused—difficult to miss the roar of a mob of thousands less than five minutes’ walk away—and had, at first, demanded only to know who or what was disturbing his peace. Once the Japanese lord had gotten word of the cause from his informants, however, his focus had changed and he demanded to see this so-called “black man,” not believing such a wonder existed.
Nobunaga had thus far tolerated the Catholic mission and its evangelists as interesting curiosities and purveyors of thought-provoking ideas. But the winds often changed fast in Old Japan. It was rumored—a rumor started by Father Organtino himself—that Nobunaga was thinking about becoming a Christian. This was entirely the missionary’s flight of fancy, however. Nobunaga had little time for any god, and was more likely an atheist and certainly an iconoclast who tore down temples that offended him, mercilessly massacring their inhabitants without the slightest worry of eternal damnation. He had little concern for spiritual matters, except where they could render him temporal advantage or political legitimacy.
The inspiration for Nobunaga’s ostensible support for Jesuit interests was twofold. First, to antagonize the Buddhist establishment with whom he’d been at war for years. He believed priests and monks should stick to spiritual matters, something that many Buddhist sects in Japan most definitely did not do. Many temples still owned vast estates, ran whole domains and manipulated temporal rulers with abandon, threatening them with eternal damnation if they were thwarted. They even retained armies of warrior monks, sohei, who fought with a legendary fanaticism for their abbots. (Ironically the Jesuits, whom Nobunaga was clearly fond of, were often accused of similar tendencies in other parts of the world, but Nobunaga did not know that.) These sects hated Nobunaga because he threatened everything they possessed and they fought him at every turn as he absorbed more of Japan. In turn, by this year of 1581, Nobunaga had subjugated virtually all monastic threats, and only a few remote holdouts remained to be dealt with.
The second reason he welcomed Jesuits was to harness European knowledge of the wider world and secure access to novelties such as cannon, globes, glasses and peculiar clothing, including European cloaks and tall wide-brimmed Portuguese hats. He regularly wore these foreign garments in public spectacles, triggering minor fashion crazes among the wealthy, and challenging the skill of Japan’s tailors who’d never attempted such styles before.
Organtino briefly filled Yasuke in on a few stories to ensure he knew what was coming. Nobunaga could be the nicest of men, but he could also be an author of destruction and death.
The Jesuit priest recalled that as a fresh-off-the-boat missionary, he’d been present in Kyoto ten years before when the city was covered in smoke for days after the burning of the three hundred temple buildings on Mount Hiei, just to the north. The warrior monks who lived there had perished, along with their wives and children. All of them. Not even an animal had been left alive on that mountain. More than twenty thousand souls had perished in the fury and flames wrought by Nobunaga’s troops. He was not a man to be crossed.
* * *
Yasuke and Organtino approache
d the Honnō-ji Temple, a former Buddhist sanctuary. It was one of the largest walled properties in the lower city, and so Nobunaga had commandeered it as his Kyoto residence. That the act would infuriate Buddhists across Japan was merely a bonus.
Although the daily services and devotions had long since ceased, the grounds still retained the trappings and outward appearance of a religious establishment and everyone, including Nobunaga, still called it “the Honnō-ji.” The buildings within could still have been devotional, if not for the constant tramp of marching feet, and soft slow clop of cavalry mounts shod in straw shoes. (Horseshoes, in Japan, were made of straw, and on a long journey, horses would wear through dozens.) The inner sanctuary, devoted to Great Saint Nichiren—a Japanese Buddhist priest who’d lived three hundred years before and who some believed was a reincarnation of the Buddha himself—had been shorn of its customary decoration of the statue of Nichiren surrounded by arrangements of exquisitely carved lotus flowers. Nobunaga had removed their lustrous gold coating for “safekeeping,” and the statue and carvings had been burned. The monks, of course, were also missing. Supplanted in full with well-armed samurai sworn to the Oda clan, grooms, cooks, maids and a plethora of other servants.
The Honnō-ji Temple at the time of Yasuke.
Yasuke and Organtino followed their escort through the main gate and bowed to scrutinizing guards. Word of Yasuke’s summons and arrival had spread fast through the compound, and Nobunaga’s people formed a small crowd around them. While Organtino attracted the odd, interested glance, most eyes stayed on Yasuke. This smaller assembly proved better behaved than the mob though, and Yasuke and Organtino’s party slowly worked its way through the temple’s inner courtyard, past numerous buildings. They passed the vast incense-burning vats, but no smoke wafted within the compound that day. Nothing burned there in these godless times. They veered to the right directly before the main sanctuary to enter a large building, which served as Nobunaga’s audience chamber.
Yasuke and Organtino were both nervous. Nobunaga was not past executing an entire village or burning a temple if he felt he had been somehow slighted. It was entirely possible he’d merely summoned the person who had breached the public peace for a swift execution. Yasuke did not want to end with the death of a criminal. And, of course, even if he was not to be executed, the fortune and official favor of the Jesuits now rested heavily on the African warrior’s shoulders. Valignano had spent several years and a small fortune putting together this introduction, but now, with no warning or discussion, he was to become the chief emissary for the Jesuit mission in Japan. Yasuke was not unaware of his new obligations and he did not want to fail Valignano.
Organtino was also highly aware of these factors, and so it was with cautious steps they each approached their fate.
The antechambers within the temple building were crowded. An assembly of samurai and merchants mostly come on business of one sort or another. But as soon as Yasuke and the Jesuit had been announced, all other supplicants were summarily dismissed.
Nobunaga ordered Yasuke and Organtino to enter at once.
The doors of the main chamber slid open along wooden grooves to reveal a large tatami-matted chamber with a high vaulted roof and stout wooden columns along its length. Though the columns were plain waxed timber, the roof beams between them were decorated with assorted paintings of gold, silver and bright colors which covered the wood completely. These still retained their Buddhist themes: scenes of galloping animals and magnificent nature in vivid reds, blues and greens, illustrating stories from the life of Nichiren and other saints. The sliding walls also functioned as window shutters, and most of them were pulled open to let in the late-afternoon sunlight. Those that were visible were covered with simple inked scenes of nature, gold leaf coating the frames; perhaps it was the same gold that had once adorned the lotus flowers in the main temple sanctuary. More gold was painted onto the lattice screens that stood to the rear of the chamber. Behind the screens, in silhouette, petite shadows huddled together and drifted by like ghosts; the court ladies gathered eagerly awaiting this rare spectacle.
Organtino indicated that Yasuke, momentarily frozen to the spot, should enter, and he bowed his head to fit under the low door beam, reflecting as he did that from their vantage point, the people inside could have seen only his seemingly headless torso. Quite a sight. Still, no harm done; if he seemed more otherworldly, it would only add to his mystique.
Yasuke was announced, with slightly muddled geography, by the head of the escort who’d brought them as “The Black Monk from Christian.”
Yasuke crossed the threshold to enter the reception chamber, and immediately prostrated himself, bowing his head low to the floor. Organtino, slightly to his rear, did likewise. Two rows of Japanese men in formal robes knelt on the tatami, their backs straight and heads turned toward him, along the sides of the room leading up to one single man sitting on a slightly raised section at the far end facing the entrance through which Yasuke had entered. He spotted Takayama Ukon among the kneeling courtiers—the same powerful lord who’d paraded into town with them only hours before—and Yasuke tried to gauge Takayama’s expression. Anything to give him a clue as to what was coming next.
Oda Nobunaga sat cross-legged directly in the middle of the dais, garbed in an opulent short-sleeved green cotton over-robe with an under-robe of shimmering white silk. He was well built. Tall, thin, sparsely bearded with a small moustache. Not yet fifty years old. Behind him was a sheathed sword, upright on a stand; no other piece of furniture was in evidence.
He was, and had been for a decade, the most powerful man in Japan.
* * *
Japanese systems of government had gone through a bewildering number of changes since the time of the semimythical first Emperor Jimmu, who is traditionally believed to have ascended to the throne in 660 BCE. For the next thirteen hundred years, emperors and empresses (several rulers were female) ruled as tribal leaders or semimagical shamans, until 645 CE when, borrowing systems from China, something similar to what we would now recognize as constitutional government came in to force. The emperor and imperial court became the center of power, forging a unified nation-state, and also establishing rites and a formalized spiritual role for the emperor as “Son of Heaven.”
Over time, leading families among the imperial court nobles usurped power, and the person of the emperor became ever less relevant to actual governance. Legitimacy, however, still remained with the office until 1185, when, after years of civil war, the Minamoto clan seized the reins of government, moved the capital city from Kyoto to Kamakura (near modern-day Tokyo), and established military government under the rule of a shogun, what we would now call a hereditary military dictatorship. The emperor and imperial court were “released of the burden of government,” and now “free to concentrate on their spiritual role” of ensuring that heaven looked beneficently on the Japanese realm, Tenka. Aside from a brief three-year period of restored imperial rule from 1333–1336, and a change of shogunal family to the usurper Ashikaga clan, the situation had not changed in the centuries that followed.
By 1581, the imperial family was impoverished and largely irrelevant to citizens’ lives, and the “palace” in Kyoto—what was left of it—had deteriorated into moldering ruins. Bold sightseers could walk around its deserted grounds unchallenged, and unnoticed. One Jesuit, João Rodrigues, described it: “The walls surrounding the king’s palace were made of wood covered by reeds and clay, and were old and dilapidated. Everything was left opened and abandoned without any guards, and anyone who desired could enter the courtyard right up to the royal palace without anyone stopping him, as we ourselves did.”
Posthumous portrait of Oda Nobunaga, by Giovanni Nicolao, c. 1585.
This print kindly provided by The Sanpo Temple, Yamagata Prefecture, Japan, where the picture is kept.
Meanwhile, the institution of the shogun’s government had undergone its
own changes over the years. Until the fifteenth century and The Age of the Country at War, the shoguns had been the undisputed rulers of Japan. But, as the country descended into chaos and conflict, shoguns lacked the means to enforce their writ, and the country disintegrated into warring domains where regional powers became independent again. The office of shogun limped on, impotent and impoverished, until in 1573 the last holder of the title, Ashikaga Yoshiaki, was deposed by Nobunaga. Nobunaga took Yoshiaki’s remaining power, but as yet he had not reunified the country fully, nor had he claimed the title of shogun for himself.
Not yet.
* * *
Nobunaga was a tangled knot of contradictions.
He lived in an age of war and thrived in this environment. Now in the prime of life at age forty-eight, he had both caused the deaths of tens of thousands and also effectively seen to the welfare and good governance of the territories that came under his control or submitted to his power. What he believed was that The Age of the Country at War would never end without one almighty, brutal leader to enforce peace through national conquest. Only afterward, could someone bring about the unity and national tranquility that would arise from the ashes and rivers of blood. Few others in the previous century of turmoil had his vision and none had succeeded as he had. (Why he is still today, perhaps, among the most popular personalities in Japanese history.)
Works of justice and mercy or huge displays of entertainment, culture, generosity and wonder came to him as easily as terror and fire. He was an expert military strategist but reticent about revealing his plans, sometimes shocking both his enemies and underlings by his audacity and covert tactics. He did not follow any rulebook, nor fear long odds. He was a natural with innovation, pulling off new ideas and stunts no one else would ever even dream of. He was highly sensitive about his own honor, but often acted as if he despised all others, speaking to even his most senior retainers as if they were lowly servants. His actual servants addressed their lord only with their hands and faces touching the floor, not one daring to raise his head, and when he dismissed them with an almost imperceptible nod of his head, they hurried away speedily, lest some error be found. Yet, conversely, he often spoke quite familiarly with them about details such as his new hawks or the weather. He was upright and prudent in his dealings. He disliked delays and long speeches. He was accompanied by escorts which often ran into hundreds or even thousands of troops, but most of all enjoyed riding out with a few pages and attending to his menagerie, especially hand rearing the fledgling chicks of his hunting birds.
Yasuke: In Search of the African Samurai Page 12
