Luckily, Father Organtino was there, and he stepped forward to help. He’d only ever seen this one globe, but was now quite familiar with it. In fact, he’d personally presented it to Lord Nobunaga several years before as a gift on behalf of the Jesuits. At the time, and since, he’d attempted to explain its workings, where he came from, how he’d traveled to Kyoto and where Nobunaga’s realms were indicated, but found himself lacking in much of the knowledge which the globe might impart. With the help of visitors to Kyoto who were more familiar with this modern invention, he’d come to grips with it over the years and was now able to find areas more easily. The priest pointed to the continent of Africa. More precise than that he couldn’t guess and had no idea where Yasuke was born. Neither did Yasuke, and none of his various slavers had thought to ever tell him.
Nobunaga spun the globe until he was able to see Japan. The Japanese warlord moved the globe backward and forward several times, wondering at the distance.
Yasuke was more than an entertainment for Nobunaga, he was a source of new intelligence and knowledge. Nobunaga had built a small empire on his ability to gather information and intelligence of friend and foe alike. He collected facts and stories like some rulers hoarded ornaments and jewels, and he archived them away in his head to mull over and modify until practical uses could be found. Intelligence had helped him win most of his battles, often against the odds, and astute use of every tool and weapon available to him had helped him win the rest. His men appreciated his inspiring leadership as much as the fact he’d invest in the best weapons and equipment to protect them in battle, never throwing away lives casually as some warlords were wont to do.
Well satisfied with Yasuke’s answers, and openly pleased by how much Japanese the stranger spoke, Nobunaga was in good cheer. He’d learned much and been highly entertained; so had his sons. As the food came to an end and the drink continued to flow, the nature of the party altered from an intelligence gathering exercise to entertainment. Warriors did little dances around the room with Yasuke, they touched his skin reverently and joked with him. White paper lanterns emblazoned with the Oda crest were brought in to brighten the proceedings beyond the daylight hours.
Yasuke relaxed for the first time all day, and started to enjoy himself. His life appeared safe, he had a pleasant liquor glow about him, he’d done no dishonor to the Jesuits and he was now guest of honor at Nobunaga’s, the “King’s,” feast. It was quite thrilling to be the center of attention in the company of such exalted men. As the drink continued to flow, the formality level dropped still further, and one of the plump serving ladies, giggling, hinted it would be interesting to see how much the giant could carry. Nobunaga laughed and told the woman, if she wanted to find out so badly, Yasuke could lift her. The shocked woman shied away, laughing uncertainly and reddening, but Nobunaga turned to Yasuke and asked him if he would be so good as to pick her up in one arm.
Yasuke had done this party trick before when he was away from Valignano; instead of picking up just the one girl, he picked up two. And easily. Then he balanced them one on each arm, and raised both arms in the universal pose of the weightlifter.
The room went silent again, but then almost as quickly burst out in rounds of excited roars of congratulations: “Hip, hip, hoa!” Later, one of the courtiers in attendance, Ōta Gyūichi, would record of the evening that Yasuke’s “formidable strength surpassed that of ten men.”
Throughout, Father Organtino, accustomed to close relations with Nobunaga, remained on his knees eating slowly and quietly at his table. He would surely have been praising God that things were going so well. He had much to report back to Valignano.
At the end of the party, Nobunaga brought the proceedings to a close by rewarding Yasuke for his role in this highly successful day. Through his favorite nephew, Nobunaga presented Yasuke with ten strings of copper coins weighing eighty pounds—a small fortune—not to mention a huge weight for the fellow with the “strength of ten men” to carry.
Yasuke accepted the gift graciously, and, bowing deeply once more, headed awkwardly backward on his knees with eighty pounds of boxed copper coins, out of Nobunaga’s august presence before standing to head out of the audience room door slightly dizzily, due to the drink. The last quiet giggles from the courtiers provoked by his ungainly bulk moving backward like a crab echoed in his ears along with cheery drunken farewells and still-amazed whispers. Being slightly the worse for wear, and in a haze of happiness and confusion, Yasuke only narrowly avoided banging his head on the door frame.
Thus had a fateful friendship been born.
* * *
Several days later, Valignano had his own official audience with Oda Nobunaga. Yasuke was not present for this meeting, and remained back at the church. Valignano knew well what a hit Yasuke had been but didn’t need the distraction for this first encounter.
The Italian first presented Nobunaga with a velvet-covered gilt chair, an ornate throne of state from Rome and then several sets of crystal glasses from Europe.
He also offered Yasuke.
The Jesuit Visitor was shortly to be returning to Goa and, he believed, thence to Europe, where he did not have need of a bodyguard, or could find a new one. He was unlikely to require Yasuke’s intimidating presence in the meantime, especially if the Jesuits were now, more clearly than ever, under Nobunaga’s protection. Placing his man, clearly a sensation, with Nobunaga would produce much long-term favor for the Jesuits, and perhaps even provide a valuable source of intelligence for them as well. He would have to talk to Yasuke about that.
Nobunaga agreed, delighted.
It was settled. Yasuke would join the powerful clan lord’s immediate entourage as a weapon bearer and novelty. Any notion of him ever being anything more than that did not yet exist.
In a month, however, he would have servants of his own.
Property. Wealth.
The ear and trust of the most powerful man in Japan.
In a month, he would be samurai.
PART TWO
Samurai
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Guest of Honor
Yasuke’s first days in the service of Nobunaga were filled with confusion and an unforeseen bit of pain.
For three days, he’d waited outside the mighty warlord’s audience room, but had not been called back in. None of the Jesuits had yet returned either. His only company during the long wait were rotating pairs of silent and stone-faced Japanese guards. He remained equally silent between them, kneeling seiza in the time-honored Japanese manner to mirror their pose, legs folded underneath thighs, buttocks resting fully on heels. A painful position for beginners, but one he’d well mastered over the last two years. Or, so he’d thought.
Each day, they resumed that same, silent position. And, by God, did his legs ache. They’d be burning after forty minutes and then go numb after an hour. After two hours, he’d stand, sway uncertainly and even pace a little, all aspirations of honoring the “correct” Japanese custom discarded. How could they kneel like that for so long? The Oda guards, both lower-level samurai, eyed him, mute but clearly amused; when called upon to move, they’d spring up as if nothing at all was the matter.
An attendant had explained that Nobunaga was focused on the impending umazoroe horse spectacle, but planned to summon Yasuke again before long. Whether “long” was hours, days or weeks, no one seemed to know. During the wait, Yasuke had no real idea what his new role was to be. The notion that Valignano had gifted him as one might gift a globe or an ivory-inlaid gun was unavoidable. Perhaps his future role was merely to be trotted out as an amusement, performing various feats of strength at forthcoming dinners. Or were his skills as a bodyguard and warrior actually to be employed? He simply didn’t know.
He noted the curious stares of all those who passed. This was decidedly not a port town with myriad international visitors. Beyond the Jesuits, there were no Europeans, India
ns or other Africans in Kyoto. No Thais, or Koreans either, and only a few Chinese. He’d seen nothing but Japanese people for three solid days, making it his first time to be the only foreigner around, sticking out even more.
He’d been accommodated in a small private residence, one of many where guests stayed, with a view onto an enclosed garden backing up to the exterior wall of the temple. He’d never had so much privacy in his life, and it felt strange. The only sound to keep him company while eating or falling asleep was the lulling intermittent toking of a bamboo sozu just outside his window (meant to frighten away animals, but also an intentionally serene and soothing sound) and the regular tolling of the temple bell.
Each morning, he dressed, eyed his spear and knife with longing—as no one was permitted to bear them in audience with his new lord unless bidden—and slid open his door. Then he stood at attention, waiting for some form of direction. Passing servants and guards only gave wary glances as they charged by. Whatever orders they pursued, it was quite clear, had nothing to do with him. Eventually he’d be conducted back to the doors outside the audience chamber and the two guards to again wait in vain. After several more hours, Yasuke was ushered back to his guest room for a midmorning breakfast where his meal was served for him to eat alone.
After dining, it was back to his spot outside the audience chamber, only to remain, with aching legs and increasing hunger pangs, for the evening meal, when a pretty serving lady would bow to the floor, and utter the magic words kochira e dozo: “this way, please.” Virtually the only words he seemed to hear anymore. Oh, how things had changed. He’d gone from head of security, someone who was at least seen and listened to, to an afterthought or an awkward guest. Worse, he even felt underfoot—a novel and uncomfortable sensation, and one he wanted to end. For more than four years he’d waited on Valignano seven days a week, overseeing various security matters, directly standing guard and still playing carrier as needed. The ten years before had been spent answering to former masters. Here, no one seemed to need him for anything. So he sat in his room or outside the audience chamber with the two young soldiers and waited. Trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible—not an easy thing for a man of his extraordinary size and appearance.
All through those three days and nights, he listened to, and learned, the systematic hustle of the compound and its hundred servants and guards rushing past. The brush of their straw sandals, the clop of clogs, the neighing of Oda horses, the grunt of men and the laughter of women; its energy, so very different from the all-male mission houses he’d been living in for years. Honnō-ji Temple was clearly a center of power, just as Nagasaki had become during their stay. A place that was alive with activity and purpose.
Morning started early, well before dawn, as servants cleaned out night soil, prepared fresh robes, opened shutters and removed bedding to be aired and stored until the evening. Others kindled the cooking fires, began serving meals in shifts and boiled water for tea. As this was a military installation, the changing of the guard was accompanied by weary but efficient banter. Their night duty done, these men were always the first to eat, then they retired to their barrack bedding. At the same time, the horses were exercised, groomed and fed, adding to the cacophony of noises and smells. The deep solemn peal of the temple bell marked the passing of time in the commandeered temple.
Throughout the day, Yasuke watched a hundred people enter through the audience chamber doors, then exit again in a hurry. Administrative monks with tonsured heads, barefoot servant girls, young warriors full of verve and energy with sparse beards on their chins, long-robed merchants with serious-looking faces, priestesses in ceremonial robes and townspeople with petitions. While waiting to be called in himself, he played a little game, a diversion he’d crafted while waiting for Valignano’s various summits to end. What judgment, directions, advice or reprimand had Nobunaga just given each man or woman? The pastime proved easier than usual. Everyone’s time, as he’d been warned, was taken entirely with the imminent military and horse spectacle. This umazoroe had become a national focus.
The preparations, Yasuke had gathered from discussions overheard outside the audience room, were under the immediate direction of a prominent and trusted Nobunaga general: Akechi Mitsuhide, whom Yasuke had met at his initial audience. He remembered Akechi, slightly plump of face and with a furrowed brow. Clearly a serious man who was, evidently, trying his best to carry out his lord’s orders to the letter.
Akechi’s arrangements had been speedy, especially considering that all the other lords, both major and minor from every province within easy reach of Kyoto, were to attend with their vassals. Some two hundred thousand viewers in all. The original order for the event had been given by Nobunaga only a month before! A nightmare timetable. But Akechi—it was agreed by the others waiting around with Yasuke—was a good organizer, a decisive man. A man who Nobunaga trusted to get the job done. Akechi had been the very first of Nobunaga’s vassals to be awarded a castle by the warlord, and his career and service since had validated Nobunaga’s early trust and good judgment. It had been Akechi who’d set fire to the Mount Hiei temples and put the twenty thousand inhabitants there to the sword, finally destroying the power of the warrior monks who threatened Kyoto. It was Akechi who’d been sent to overcome treacherous enemies in the Tanba and Tango regions to the north, and then set against Nobunaga’s deadly rival Uesugi Kenshin—the same rival, Yasuke recalled grimly, who’d eventually succumbed to a ninja blade while on the toilet. And it was Akechi who’d produced many of Nobunaga’s lavish entertainments and spectacles, including this imminent umazoroe. Despite the short notice, the elite of Japan dared not be absent. For they were, all of them, completely under Nobunaga’s power now.
Rank was a complicated concept in Old Japan, and it was often difficult to determine who held power and how they could wield it.
Provisionally, since the beginning of his line the divine sovereign, the “Son of Heaven,” was the dairi, male or female, and presided over a court of hereditary nobles called kuge. But, the dairi and kuge hadn’t truly had any temporal power in almost four hundred years. Power had, instead, passed to the samurai, the warrior class who’d usurped power after an internecine war ended in decisive victory in 1185.
Since then, the most powerful among the samurai families had held the reins of national government in a form of military dictatorship called a shogunate, headed by a shogun. The prestige of the former imperial court, however, remained to the extent to which the title of shogun was still technically bestowed by the dairi (although they had no real choice about who it was bestowed upon). The shogun appointed his family and most trusted samurai retainers to positions of power within government, including the governorship of distant provinces. These governors were called shugo. Beneath the shugo were various tiers of samurai in a feudal-style system.
By Yasuke’s day, however, The Age of the Country at War had finished off the shogun/shugo partnership. With increasingly weak shogunate government in the fifteenth century, the shugo had gradually become independent rulers of their own provinces or parts of them, domains. The shogunate’s influence shrank ever smaller until, like the dairi before, it ceased to exist in all but the historic prestige of its name. The last shogun, Ashikaga Yoshiaki, had been officially exiled by Nobunaga from Kyoto in 1573 and his title was abolished. Yoshiaki lived on in the protection of regional lords and temples opposed to Nobunaga, but remained unable to do anything about it.
The newly independent rulers of provinces, now essentially small states, were called daimyō, “Great Names,” or sometimes ryoshu. Men such as Nobunaga, Arima, Ryūzōji and Ōtomo, were all daimyō. So powerful that the Jesuits referred to them as kings. These daimyō and their samurai—they themselves were samurai also, just at the top of the tier—largely kept the former hierarchy in place. A daimyō would portion out fiefs to his vassal samurai, the most important vassals getting the largest fiefs. The samurai, in turn, would distribu
te fiefs to their warrior vassals all the way down to the lowest-ranking samurai. Samurai income depended on the production of the farmers who lived in the fief to which they’d been assigned.
The biggest daimyō in Yasuke’s time was indisputably Nobunaga. He controlled Kyoto, where he “took care” of the imperial court and any last vestiges of the former shogunate regime. His alliances with other lords did not always hold (though it was rarely he that broke them), but had spread throughout all of Japan. Nobunaga could command up to two hundred thousand troops on various fronts and in effect had military control of the country. He was shogun in everything but name.
On the third morning, Yasuke finally received his orders.
He was to take part in the military parade, the umazoroe, the next day. A last-minute addition. He too, now, was completely under Nobunaga’s power.
* * *
They’d built the arena for the event from scratch only weeks before. Thousands of men were brought in from the provinces by Akechi as labor. Supplies of wood were not an issue because Nobunaga had, for years, commandeered virtually all timber in central Japan for his numerous building projects. The arena was a half mile running north to south, marked out by tall posts enfolded with colored felt, which ran the length of the field. The outer limits of the riding area were indicated with a short stockade of crisscrossed bamboo. Behind this low fence most spectators craned their necks, pushing and shoving to get a glimpse through the crowds in front of them. Small children squatted and squinted through the holes in the woven bamboo while their elder brothers and sisters filled nearby trees. The roofs of any buildings with a view were crowded with the inhabitants and their friends, exquisite bento picnic boxes prepared, and parasols blossoming to protect the ladies from the bright spring sun. This huge crowd was much like the one which greeted Yasuke only days before—the same people, treated to yet another wonder, all in the name of Nobunaga’s glory.
Yasuke: In Search of the African Samurai Page 14
