Yasuke: In Search of the African Samurai

by Thomas Lockley

  Long grey fingers of smoke ghosted across the ceiling as flames licked up the walls and the first timbers cracked. The temple was collapsing. It was time to go.

  Yasuke cinched the cloth package with Nobunaga’s head to the sash at his waist. Nobutada, his new liege, was only five minutes to the north in his own temple residence, but those would not be an easy five minutes. Yasuke knew Kyoto’s streets well enough, but he also knew it was crawling with the enemy.

  However, if he could reach Nobutada, he could fulfil his lord’s last order and strike a blow at the traitor who had so vilely brought down the house of Oda. He could not bear to leave the corpse to simply burn; Nobunaga deserved better. Yasuke hoisted his lord’s body and sword aloft and set about escaping the hell-like inferno.

  Suddenly, the last ten Oda warriors burst into the room. They immediately took in the situation. It was clear Yasuke had a greater chance of fulfilling Nobunaga’s last orders if he had less to carry, so they relieved him of the body, and sent him on his way to Nobutada with only the head at his waist and the sheathed sword in his hand. Both were needed by Nobutada, but the mauled and lifeless body could be left for them to deal with. At least it would be treated deferentially and given the proper rites. They could then, maybe, perform seppuku themselves afterward, knowing the most important job, defending their lord’s final dignity, was in good hands. If the Akechi troops did not find them first.

  Yasuke nodded in appreciation and farewell and then dodged through a side hallway, jumping over the slaughtered bodies which were spread everywhere. His own face was smeared with fresh blood and soot. He slashed open a side wall, saw several shapes moving in the wall of smoke ahead. A few soldiers.

  Yasuke emerged from the inferno to face them. With the fire raging behind, he hoped to cut through them quickly. To somehow flee before another three, or even a hundred, blocked his escape. The warriors stopped, frozen, then openly cowered back. Yasuke stepped forward, looming over them, focused, undaunted. Wrathful. A living nightmare. One of the soldiers glanced at the spear in his own trembling hand and his look revealed all: It was not weapon enough.

  Yasuke smirked grimly. Fear was a much-needed ally this night. These were mere flies, he reassured himself, flies to swat on this, the last mission for his dear lord. The three soldiers remained spellbound, unable to move. Even words failed them. “Yasuke de gozaru,” Yasuke said as he stepped forward into attack position, ripped his sword from the scabbard and performed the attacking stroke simultaneously, a technique Nobunaga had personally taught him. He’d knocked their blades aside. With the return stroke he swiped the tip of his sword across the startled faces of his three foes, and as they fell back, he delivered the death stroke to each man.

  Outside, the city was still mostly in shadow, the sun was only just reaching over the Kyoto mountains, but the temple already glowed brightly. Flames engulfed its roof and walls and outbuildings, mingling the sweet aroma of burning wood with the acrid stench of burned gunpowder.

  The Akechi troops had now largely vacated the burning residential structure, edging back into the main temple courtyard to avoid their own fiery deaths; they believed everyone inside was either already dead or about to burn. The rear areas, occupied mainly by smoldering residential buildings were left unguarded, and only the neighboring streets were being patrolled as the rebels fanned out to seek survivors and the main force headed north to kill Nobutada.

  In the confusion of the smoke, working around the burning temple buildings, Yasuke swiftly jumped the wall at the back of the compound and found himself in a deserted street. He knew it, for it was the one that led to the Jesuit mission, visible in the distance due to its abnormal height. The smoke and the early morning mist curled together, choking each breath. Ranmaru’s jacket cinched at his hip slapped heavily against Yasuke’s upper thigh as if urging him onward. He’d vowed to see Nobunaga’s mortal remains to his lord’s heir, and he hadn’t come seven thousand miles to break such vows; no time for a break despite his heaving lungs, he ran for Nobutada, his new liege, whom he thought was in his customary residence at the Myōkaku-ji Temple.

  Yasuke did not take the roads; there was too high a chance of being intercepted. Instead, he vaulted over fences, ran through houses and gardens dodging patrols, even climbed over roofs, surprising the shocked, nervous, rudely awoken householders of the capital city. When he found his way blocked by Akechi troops, he relied on shock value, jumping out at them, wielding his weapon above his head. As before, the Akechi troops he encountered cowered before this seemingly giant dark god. They were quickly overwhelmed by Yasuke’s size and strength.

  * * *

  Nobutada’s men had taken possession of the Nijō Palace, barred the gates and taken up positions on the wall. Nobutada breathlessly prostrated himself and advised Crown Prince Masahito, whose residence it was, that it was preferable for his safety if he left. It was not his day to die, and the prince and his entourage were escorted quickly from the scene by the poet Satomura Jōha. The man who’d composed verse beside Akechi two nights before had been sent ahead by the traitor to protect the crown prince. Akechi would need imperial allies in the days to come and killing the crown prince would be unwise. They hurried out without the usual pomp and ceremony that typically attended imperial travel around the capital. In the meantime, to the din of a thousand approaching soldiers, Nobutada and his men prepared for their ends.

  Just ahead of the enemy ran Yasuke, dodging gunshots and arrows as he sprinted the last fifty yards toward the Myōkaku-ji Temple. Nobutada on the palace walls saw him, shouted his new position next door, and Yasuke swerved to the right as another arrow sped by. On Nobutada’s orders, the palace doors were opened enough and slammed quickly shut again as Yasuke gained the temporary safety of the walls.

  Yasuke dropped to his knees before his new lord. Gasping, lungs heaving. Head bowed to the floor. Finding the right words in Japanese, he respectfully reached up and offered Nobutada the bundle which contained the head.

  Nobutada, eyes welling, accepted it formally and opened Ranmaru’s tattered jacket to reveal his father’s head. He touched the mortal remains to his own head in a sign which both reverenced his father and showed deep gratitude to Yasuke for having completed his mission. Yasuke then offered up the sword, which Nobutada grasped with his free hand by the scabbard and nodded again at Yasuke. There was no time for anything else. The ground already rumbled with the running feet of the enemy troops and the first musket balls were already buzzing over or striking the wall.

  Nobutada passed the head to a vassal with orders to guard it with his life, then turned, lifted the sword and shouted, “To the walls!” A largely unnecessary order as his men were already standing to arms at the meager fortifications, but one which filled his small corps of Oda samurai with heart. Their new clan head was now in secure and confident command. Tenka no tame. “For the realm!”

  Defending the palace, alas, was a hopeless cause.

  There were too few of them, again. And, although better than the temple, Nijō Palace was still low-lying and built largely for ceremonial rather than military purposes. While it was smaller than the Honnō-ji Temple and Nobutada had marginally more men than Nobunaga, it was still too large for this handful of men to defend effectively. Once the enemy gained the wall, the battle became a series of sallies and retreats. The Oda forces burst at the invaders with swords whirling, killing or being killed, then withdrew in ever smaller numbers to group together around Nobutada again before attacking once more.

  The deciding factor, however, was the guns. Akechi’s forces had commandeered the roof of a neighboring residence which overlooked the Nijō Palace’s courtyard, and set up their firearms above the defenders. Gunning them down as they attempted their last brave, but futile, stand was a simple matter. Yasuke charged out again and again beside his comrades, his energy and lifeblood seeping with every attack and new wound. They simply could not stop the enemy as
they fell, one by one, to bullets, arrows or blades.

  Nijō Palace, as before, was set aflame and Nobutada, as his father had, realized it was all over. He tasked one of his retainers with hiding his own remains and those of his father and then—as Nobunaga had done less than an hour before—cut his belly, losing his head in turn to the samurai who performed as his second. The short-lived clan lord’s head was put reverentially next to his father’s and then both were buried under a walkway, which was then covered up to be later devoured in the flames.

  As Nobutada performed his last act, Yasuke and the final score of Oda men held the courtyard and prepared to fight to the death. Despite his battles and the wild running flight through the yards and backstreets of Kyoto, the African warrior had clearly only delayed his own death.

  They were now completely surrounded by Akechi warriors. The circle tightened with each round of attacks, and then the final defenders somehow became separated, each one surrounded by a vortex of spears and swords. As before, the enemy soldiers were not quite sure how to react to the warrior, the likes of whom they’d never fought before.

  They circled Yasuke nervously, prodding with their spears and sallying, only to fall back before the exhausted African samurai could swipe at his tormentors. The final moments of the combat had descended to something akin to bear baiting. And as with bear baiting, many of the attacking dogs died. As the other Oda warriors around him fell, Yasuke cut down another six Akechi men. Ten.

  The circle continued to tighten. He could hardly move. Spears and swords cut cautiously at him. Blood ran down into his eyes from cuts. The world began to blur.

  In time, Yasuke dropped to one knee, but kept swinging his remaining blade. Countless men swarmed him, kicking and hitting with the hilt of their swords, and the world turned black for an instant.

  He awoke seconds, minutes, later to find he could not move. Five men held him down, but he couldn’t have moved had there been no man holding him. Every muscle was completely spent.

  An Akechi samurai came forward and screamed angrily at Yasuke, made him promise to properly surrender his sword. And he reluctantly complied.

  Dawn had come only two hours before. There was nothing left to fight for. Yasuke offered up his sword to the officer in charge, and he knelt on the ground, neck outstretched to await his coming execution. He hoped it would be quick and painless.

  But the stroke never came.

  Instead, the Akechi samurai gestured and Yasuke was dragged from Nijō Palace by four men into the streets of Kyoto. It didn’t take long for him to learn why.

  * * *

  Lord Akechi had set up his field headquarters in the house next door to the large residence from which his troops had gunned down Yasuke’s comrades. The warlord sat on a raised dais, his legs crossed with his helmet beside him. His long sword rested in his lap.

  As Yasuke waited to be seen, he could hear Akechi barking out orders as men bowed and rushed out on urgent commissions as others entered to report before just as swiftly departing. Akechi was fuming when he saw Yasuke, having little time to spare for niceties. He demanded Yasuke tell him where Nobunaga’s head and sword were. The African samurai claimed he didn’t know—not a complete untruth, for the temple and palace were now both consumed in flames.

  Akechi’s face grew flush with anger and Yasuke held his breath, waiting for his death sentence.

  To Yasuke’s surprise, however, the usurper did not order his execution or seppuku. Akechi said wryly to the samurai beside him, “This man is not Japanese and has no honor; otherwise, he would already be dead.” Then, Akechi gestured with his fingers and shouted for his retainers to get the “black beast” out of his sight, to take him to the Temple of the Southern Barbarians, the Jesuit church.

  It was the first time in all his years in Japan Yasuke had ever heard a Japanese use his skin color in denigration. His eyes narrowed at Akechi, challenging. He understood the insult had come because the traitor would not, could not, kill him today.

  Akechi knew well where Yasuke had originally come from—he’d even been present at the original audience with Nobunaga—and he needed no more enemies tonight. Yasuke was with the Jesuits. And the Jesuits, Akechi clearly hoped, could be a useful conduit to Takayama Ukon, whose ear they had. It was best to return Yasuke to the priests and perhaps gain their favor.

  Several soldiers led Yasuke from the house and escorted him on the five-minute walk to the same Catholic church he’d left the year before.

  * * *

  Yasuke had no fight left in him, but there was nothing left to fight for anyway. Akechi was already carrying out his next moves, ordering searches for Oda survivors, and sending troops on to new battlefields beyond Kyoto. On the way to the mission, Yasuke heard shrieks and screams from behind walls as householders were “encouraged” to reveal any hiding Oda fugitives. The searches proceeded with a brutal efficiency; scores of people mercilessly tortured and killed in the streets of the capital. As he walked with his escort, Yasuke bore witness as a handful of Nobutada’s men who’d escaped the battle lost their heads like common criminals, without the honor of seppuku. Yasuke looked away; he could do no more for them.

  At the Jesuit church, Yasuke was surprised to hear his captors speaking respectfully to the priest who opened the door.

  It was Father Fróis.

  Akechi, whom Fróis had known for years, had never once shown any particular affection for the Europeans’ foreign ways. The Jesuits within had been following events as best they could with their doors barred, wondering how this change of circumstance would affect them. A score of Catholics had taken refuge with them and they were all praying together, kneeling in deep concentration before the crucifix in the chamber of worship.

  Father Fróis and the other priests gave thanks in prayer for Yasuke’s deliverance and then gently pressed him for as much information as he could manage. It was clear Japan had just changed in astonishing fashion, and forever. As in the past during times of crisis, they should evacuate Kyoto to take refuge in some other, quieter place, such as Takayama’s castle or Sakai.

  Yasuke collapsed in the chapel foyer. Brothers and priests rushed to help him as blood spread beneath the enormous warrior.

  The battle, like the reign of Nobunaga, was over.

  PART THREE

  Legend

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Japan, Tomorrow

  All that day, Akechi’s men kicked down doors throughout Kyoto, seeking Oda soldiers or loyalists who’d escaped the two battles and were still hiding within the city. Such men, and their allies, were dragged into the streets for threats, interrogation and summary executions. The Akechi troops killed hundreds and those corpses not quickly claimed by relatives were tossed onto makeshift funeral pyres, adding to the deathly pall of smoke and rank smell still permeating the city from the morning’s battles.

  Yasuke mostly slept, fading in and out all that day. His many cuts and burns were cleaned and wrapped by the Jesuit attendants. The missionaries had barricaded the compound gates and, like most of the townsfolk, kept their heads down, following events as best they could from behind the barred doors as they debated how the sudden changes would affect them.

  Akechi’s men now stood guard, unchallenged, at strategic points throughout the city. By nightfall on the first day, the streets of Kyoto were silent again. As if, except for lingering wafts of smoke, nothing at all had happened. Yasuke’s wounds and memories of the morning battle seemed like figments of his imagination. It made feverish sleep even more confused.

  The head of the mission was still Father Organtino, but he’d remained in Azuchi as principal of the new seminary there. It was Father Fróis, the translator who’d first welcomed Yasuke and Valignano to Japan, who took command in Kyoto in the absence of the superior. He was a brilliant and kindly man, but lacked the authority to make key decisions as the Jesuits fretted over next step
s and the fate of their brethren in Azuchi.

  From the word on Kyoto’s streets, the bulk of Akechi’s troops were already halfway to Azuchi to seize Nobunaga’s capital and greatest castle. They’d gone east, spending the night first in Akechi’s fief in Sakamoto before, at first light, boarding fast sculling skiffs across Lake Biwa toward Azuchi. What would happen? When would word of the Jesuits’ safety arrive? And then there was the matter of “their” man Takayama, the powerful converted Japanese lord who’d also been mobilizing to aid Hideyoshi and had his army ready in the field. Under these new circumstances, who would he now back?

  Lord Akechi, in contrast to the agnostic Nobunaga, was a devoted Buddhist and the Catholics feared he might take a far dimmer view of the foreigners and their alien religion. The Jesuits made moves for years assuming Nobunaga and his heirs would rule Japan for the foreseeable future. All the years of hard work and graft were now lost and who they backed in the next few days and weeks could determine their place in Japan for centuries.

  Two days later, Kyoto received word that the entire town of Azuchi had burned. And its extraordinary castle—Nobunaga’s pinnacle of power and Yasuke’s home—had been razed from the earth, its treasures and gold looted by Akechi’s troops.

  Yasuke had assumed the castle would hold as it was well garrisoned and virtually unassailable, but something had clearly gone wrong. Perhaps the defenders had panicked or the warden of the castle, Gamō Katahide, a senior, long-standing and trusted vassal of Nobunaga’s, had judged the numbers insufficient to mount a proper defense. Yasuke and the Jesuits had imagined Akechi would simply seize one of the most glorious castles on earth. Instead, destruction. No one knew who’d kindled the flames—some said Akechi’s men, others claimed that the garrison had done it to deny Akechi the satisfaction of its capture. Either way, the grand castle was no more. A pile of smoldering ruins was all that remained. Along with the castle, the Akechi soldiers burned, pillaged and raped their way through the surrounding estates and the town at the foot of the mountain. Yasuke’s house, he assumed, was among the many destroyed, his servants murdered or fled.