1636: Seas of Fortune (53 page)

“Forget the palanquin,” said First-to-Dance to her escort, eyeing his waist. “I’ll double up with you.”

Kodachi Machi/Santa Cruz

“Hiraki, where is your grandfather?” asked Yamaguchi Takuma. “It’s almost time to eat.”

The nine-year-old looked up. “He went off looking for herbs.”

“Yesterday,” his mother Mizuki volunteered, “he was chortling about some plant he found in the scrubland out to the west. You know, that field that was partially cleared last year. I bet he’s out there again.”

“Should I send Hiraki to fetch him?”

“Let him enjoy himself; he’s retired after all. I’ll give him some rice-gruel when he comes in.”

Maruya/Carmel

“So, you are our native expert,” said Toshiro Kanesada. He put a slight stress on the word “native” that First-to-Dance didn’t like. It was a pity, because otherwise First-to-Dance thought that there was plenty to like about him. He was well-muscled without overdoing it, and taller than most of the Japanese. And he moved like a mountain cat.

“I think we can handle the matter on our own.”

Chiyo had warned First-to-Dance that Kanesada might be a bit resentful of her presence. Kanesada had once been an up-and-coming member of the guard of Honda Masazumi, the lord of Utsunomiya. But in 1622, Masazumi rebuilt a castle without the shogun’s permission. He lost his fief and was sent into exile, and of course all his samurai, including Kanesada, became ronin. It was very difficult for a ronin to become a retainer once more, but the assembly of the First Fleet had created that opportunity.

Kanesada had recently transferred to the small garrison at Maruya/Carmel, becoming its commander. He had put in for the transfer after the ritual suicide of his friend, Hosoya Jinbei.

“I am just here to help prevent misunderstandings,” said First-to-Dance. “The grand governor told me, when I last dined with him, that he has great faith in your abilities.” Thus simultaneously buttering Kanesada up, and putting him in his place.

* * *

First-to-Dance carefully inspected the Indian artifacts that had been placed in the vicinity of the Maruyans’ cross. She jiggled the shells, and felt the feathers on the arrow shafts. The Maruyan headman and Lieutenant Kanesada watched her.

“Is this going to take all day?” Kanesada asked.

She ignored him. At last she announced, “this is mostly a peaceful offering, made by the Ixchenta. They live on the other side of this river, near the mouth.”

“Why do you say, ‘mostly’?”

She frowned. “Putting an arrow into the ground is a sign of peaceful intent. But using so many arrows seems to me to also be a veiled threat, ‘we are many, we have arrows to spare, so don’t mess with us.’”

“What do you think we should do next?” asked the headman.

“Set out gifts for them.”

Kanesada agreed. Without discussing it with First-to-Dance, he also placed a samurai in hiding, to spy on the Indians when they came and report back how many there were, their weapons, their state of health, and so on.

One day, the gifts vanished.

The samurai watchman never saw the Indians, coming or going.

Kodachi Machi/Santa Cruz

Yamaguchi Takuma stood outside his home, and greeted his guest. His guest, in turn, bowed and handed over a present, medicine in a clamshell.

“What an honor!” cried Takuma. “I could hardly believe it when I saw you come off the ship. Up to now, we have only had a
doshiki
, and a few confraternity leaders like myself, to serve the religious needs of a community of over a thousand Christians. But now we have you, a Franciscan brother! Trained in a seminary in Manila, no less!”

Friar Franciscus Tanaka put a finger to his lips. “I would prefer that you say nothing of the matter until the ships leave . . .”

“I don’t understand . . .”

“Don’t you?” The friar stared at him. “Haven’t you wondered why there are no priests among you, or among us new arrivals?”

“I assumed that it was because none of the Japanese-born priests had come out of hiding yet.”

“No, no, there was one; from Nagasaki. And was he sent to Monterey Bay, with the other
kirishitan
from Nagasaki? No. He wasn’t even placed on the same ship. His ship parted from us early, going somewhere far to the north.

“Plainly, this grand governor doesn’t want the
kirishitan
of Monterey Bay to have a priest. And if gambling weren’t sinful, I would wager that if I had let the inspectors know that I was consecrated as a friar, I bet I would be shivering somewhere up north, too. Because the grand governor doesn’t want us ‘corrupting’ his precious samurai.”

At least the grand governor’s samurai aren’t hanging us upside-down in a pit of shit
, thought Takuma. But rather than say so, he bowed deeply and ushered Friar Franciscus Tanaka into the
zashiki
, the most formal room of the house. It was the only room whose floor was completely covered with
tatami
mats, no doubt brought to California from Japan. Their presence marked the Yamaguchi family as being one of quite prosperous commoners before their journey into exile; even a century ago, only samurai dwellings would have had them.

* * *

In the
zashiki,
the friar was invited to sit with his back to the
tokonoma
. This was the
kamiza
, the “top seat.” It would, after all, be gauche to force the guest of honor to view the contents of that alcove: a picture scroll from home, and a bouquet of native flowers.

Franciscus started to murmur some obligatory words of gratitude for the honor bestowed upon him, when the words caught in his throat. An unmistakable
butsudan
—a Buddhist altar—sat on a cabinet on one side of the room. The doors were closed, but Franciscus knew what would be inside.

No doubt it was necessary to have a
butsudan
back in Nippon, during the decades of persecution. The authorities might at any time search a home for signs of christian worship, and, failing to find such, still find it suspicious if there were no signs of proper obeisance to the buddhas and kamis. But why would it be brought here, where Christianity was legal?

He sniffed the air. No . . . yes. . . . There was a taint of incense. Incense sticks had been burned here, probably this very day. Probably in front of an
ihai
, a spirit tablet, now safely stored in the butsudan.

“Is something wrong, Brother Franciscus?” asked Takuma.

Franciscus wanted to rail at him and his wife, but this was not the time. Not when he was a guest at their home. But it horrified him to find a a
butsudan
in the home of a
mizukata,
an elected baptizer for a Christian community.

His gaze rose to scrutinize the ceiling, especially above the doors to adjoining rooms. Well, at least they hadn’t compounded their heresies by putting a
kamidama
, a Shinto shrine, between the crossbeams.

He breathed in and out slowly. “No,” said Franciscus, “nothing is wrong.”

Maruya/Carmel

The first arrow lodged in the straw canopy that shaded the fishing boat.

“Did you hear something?” Yakichi said sharply to his companion, Sakuzo. Thanks to his deal with the authorities, Yakichi had been able to borrow the money for a part-share in Sakuzo’s boat, brought over from Japan.

The second arrow just missed Sakuzo’s head, and only because he happened to lean over the gunwale to look for fish at the key moment.

“Fuck! We’re being shot at!” Yakichi shouted. “Keep down,” he added, and took his own advice.

They were, at the time, about a mile north of the mouth of the Carmel River, about two hundred yards away from Carmel Beach.

They hastily turned the boat toward the open sea, which both made the boat a smaller target, and also allowed them to quickly open up the range. After some frantic paddling, they turned once more to parallel the shore. Very cautiously they made for the river mouth.

As soon as they saw the village women standing in the shallows of the river, washing clothes by kicking them about with their feet, they started yelling for them to run to the fort and alert the soldiers.

* * *

“Where is First-to-Dance?” Kanesada demanded.

The sentry gawked at him. “I think . . . I think she said she was going off to gather berries, sir.”

“We can’t wait for her. Sound assembly! For both the guard and the militia!”

“The militia is responsible for village defense, I am leaving four guardsmen on foot to assist them. The rest of us will ride a sweep to the north, to where the shooting occurred.”

Kanesada swung himself into the saddle, and his fellow patrollers followed suit. They rode perhaps two miles, through meadows and open woods, without spotting any Indians.

This is a waste of time
, Kanesada decided.
By now, they are back in their village, congratulating themselves on giving us a scare. Well, I’ll give
them
a scare.

“Back the way we came!”

They rode back, and this time, they crossed the Carmel River. It was still low water; the winter rains hadn’t yet begun. He knew, from conversations with First-to-Dance, where the Indian camp was mostly likely to be; it would be positioned near a place convenient for catching the salmon running down the Carmel.

The Indians weren’t accustomed to horses, and therefore they reacted by fleeing or hiding, rather than fighting. Hiding, however, was not a good idea, as the Indians didn’t have time for stealth, or for hiding the signs of their passage. Two women and a child were taken prisoner, and brought back, tied to spare ponies, to serve as hostages.

As he and his men rode back through the gate of the Maruya fort, Kanesada felt quite pleased with himself.

* * *

“Are you sure that these are the same Indians that attacked your fishermen?” First-to-Dance demanded.

“Not these individuals, of course, but their tribe,” said Kanesada. “Their camp was only a few miles away from where the shooting occurred, so who else could it be? And we hold the entire tribe responsible for the actions of any of its members.” Japanese law included the principle of collective responsibility.

“May I see the arrows that were fired at the fishermen, please?”

Fortunately, the fishermen had pulled them out of their boat and brought them to the fort, as proof that they had been attacked, and weren’t malingering. First-to-Dance studied them carefully, her brows narrowing as she did so.

“What happened to the arrows that were left in the ground by our Cross?”

“The headman has them. He kept them as souvenirs.”

“Please have him bring them here.”

In due course, she laid them out, one next to the other, on the floor. She set the two new arrows a foot or so away from the old ones, close enough to make comparisons, far enough away to avoid accidentally mixing the two groups.

She looked up at Kanesada. “As I feared, they are not from the same tribe.”

“How do you know?”

“The way they are painted is different.”

“Wouldn’t that just mean that they were made by different Indians of the same tribe? So they’d know who made a kill?”

“Yes and no. The old ones were made by three different makers, and the new ones by two others. But on the butt ends, the old ones all use two colors, and new ones just one. That tells me that the new ones are from a smaller tribe than the old ones; they needed fewer colors to tell whose was whose.

“And look at the patterns. All of the old ones have eight painted short bands and then a long one, in alternating colors. The new ones both have two long bands, with an unpainted gap in-between.”

Kanesada took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. “All right, I’ll have you question the hostages. See what they say about these arrows.”

* * *

The hostages were a disconsolate heap of misery on the floor of the gathering hall of the Japanese village, their hands and feet tied, a guard watching their every move. Not that they could move much. Their eyes were downcast, but they looked up when First-to-Dance spoke to them, and showed them the arrows.

First-to-Dance translated. “They say that their people, the Ixchenta, had nothing to do with this attack. They say that the arrows are made by the Achista, who live to the north, and are their enemies.

“Why, they say, have you attacked them? Did they not welcome you? Have they not let you catch salmon in the river that their grandfather’s grandfather fished in?”

Kanesada stared at her, then dropped his gaze. “I have failed my lord. I have made enemies of our friends, and our real enemies are laughing at us. I must make amends.”

He gave orders for finer food and drink to be brought for the hostages, and presents too, from his own belongings.

“Tell them that I apologize for my mistake, and that I will set them free as soon as I have given them gifts to make up for the deed.” First-to-Dance did so.

“No,” said Kanesada, “that’s not enough. I must atone . . . personally.”

First-to-Dance looked at him, in horrified surmise. “Please, no, Kanesada-san!” First-to-Dance had seen Jinbei’s body, shortly after his ritual suicide, and Chiyo-hime had described to her, in morbid detail, what was involved. “Lord Masamune has absolutely forbidden
seppuku
without his prior written permission!”

Kanesada’s shoulder slumped. “So I must endure the shame.”

“Is there nothing else you can do, to satisfy your honor, that is less . . . permanent?”

Kanesada looked at the headman, who had been a silent witness of the conversation with the Ichxenta Indians. “Do you have a
muchi
?” The headman nodded uncertainly. The
muchi
was a scourge, a piece of bamboo to which barbed thongs were attached. “Please bring it to me,” Kanesada ordered.

As he waited for the headman to return, Kanesada laid down his swords, and undid the top half of his
hitatare
, letting it hang down from his obi-sash. First-to-Dance couldn’t help but admire the view.

Kanesada swung the wicked looking
muchi
back over his shoulder, whipping those barbs deep into his flesh. First-to-Dance flinched.