The Samurai and the Long-Nosed Devils (7 page)

To Pedro, the rules sounded elementary and even childish when compared to those of chess. He didn't understand how two intelligent adults could enjoy such a game. His thoughts must have shown, for Zenta smiled and said, “The game is more interesting than you think. It's supposed to develop strategic thinking, and that's why it's so popular among members of the warrior class. Why don't you try it? You take the black stones and I'll take the white. Let me show you how it goes.”

In a very short while Pedro discovered to his amazement that no matter how hard he tried, he could not save a single one of his black men from capture. His opponent's men, on the other hand, remained completely invulnerable. Then Zenta proceeded to demonstrate some tactics, how to strengthen one's position against attack and how to launch an invasion. Pedro became so engrossed that he didn't even notice when the first welcome breezes began to blow into the room.

Finally a loud rattling of bamboo leaves outside the door attracted their attention. “Ah, at last,” sighed Matsuzo, taking a deep breath of the fresh and cool air. Suddenly a great gust of wind blew out the lamp in their room.

Pedro stood up and pushed open the sliding door that led to the garden. He stepped out on the wooden veranda and stretched himself, enjoying the cool wind. There was a bright flash in the sky, followed a moment later by thunder. After a minute there was another bright flash which lit up the whole garden so that for an instant he could even see the roof of Lord Fujikawa's house. The thunder that followed was ear-splitting.

Soon, however, Pedro's sweat-dampened clothes began to feel uncomfortable in the wind. He shivered. Once more a flash of lightning gave the scene an instant of strange blue radiance. The crack of thunder this time was not only loud, but it seemed to him that the sound had a slightly different timbre.

Zenta, too, sat up straight at the last clap of thunder. “That one was close to home,” he remarked. “But it sounded quite different. I hope it didn't strike a building. We really should keep our eyes open for the possibility of fire.”

Pedro had lived long enough in Japan to understand the universal dread of fire, for the houses were largely built of paper and wood. He noticed a faint sulfurous smell in the air, rather like gunpowder, and he knew that Zenta's fear of lightning striking a building was justified. They stood up and peered anxiously in the direction of Lord Fujikawa's house, from which the sound had come. In the next moment the sky broke open and the rain thudded down on them like physical blows. There was no longer any danger of a general fire.

“Speaking of fire, I don't see how you expect to defend your castles against fire arrows when the main structures are all built of wood,” Pedro said as they hurried back into the room out of the rain. “In Europe we build our castles of stone, and only heavy artillery has a chance of making a breach.”

Heavy artillery had not yet made its appearance in Japan, and Zenta was very eager to learn all that Pedro could tell him about cannons. While the rain poured in great sheets outside, they rekindled the lamp and Pedro described European warfare as he had experienced it. At Zenta's suggestion, Pedro used the go board as a battlefield and the stones as soldiers to demonstrate how forces were massed by European commanders. The ronin was extremely quick at grasping the explanations. Pedro had met only one other person whose understanding was so quick, and that was Nobunaga.

In the middle of Pedro's descriptions, Zenta suddenly interrupted. “What was that? I thought I heard a splash.”

Pedro had heard it also. The sound had seemed close at hand, but in the noise of the rain, he couldn't be sure. Once more they went out on the veranda, and this time they even stepped down into the garden. Suddenly, a torrent of water, which had been collecting on the roof, broke its dam of pine needles and came down like a waterfall right into the back of Pedro's collar. The shock of cold went down his back, into his pants, and even entered his hose.

Pedro sputtered furiously, and the two ronin laughed out loud. “There is plenty of room in your puffed pants for more water,” said Matsuzo rather unkindly.

At least that explained the splashing sound, thought Pedro sourly. Opening his mouth for a retort, he was overcome by a gigantic sneeze. If he didn't take care, the drenching could cause a bad chill. It was time to retire for the night.

Back in his room Pedro changed into dry clothes and lay down wearily on his thin mattress. He had long ago grown accustomed to the Japanese way of sleeping on the floor, and he fell immediately into a deep sleep.

 

It seemed to him that only five minutes later someone was shaking him awake. He opened his eyes and found to his surprise that it was already morning. The person urgently shaking him was Matsuzo.

The young ronin looked very grave. “I think you should get dressed immediately and come outside. Something very serious has happened.” As Pedro pulled on his doublet and fastened his sword belt, he became aware of angry voices shouting outside. “What are they shouting about? It sounds as if someone has been killed.”

“Someone has,” replied Matsuzo grimly. “This morning Lord Fujikawa was found murdered.”

Even as Pedro tried to absorb the meaning of these words, he heard some loud booming thuds. “Lord Fujikawa's men are trying to break open our front gate,” explained Matsuzo.

Pedro could now make out cries of “Death to the Portuguese murderers!”

“But why are they so positive that we are the murderers?” he asked. Passing the door of the storeroom he stopped. “Wait, let me bring one of my guns.”

Matsuzo caught him by the arm. “This is the one thing you must not do! You see, Lord Fujikawa was shot by a gun. That's why his men are blaming you.”

As Pedro stood stunned, Matsuzo added, “Of course you can guess which gun fired the shot.” “Yes,” said Pedro slowly. “The murderer must be the person who stole my gun.”

They reached the front of the house where they were joined by Father Luis just as the gate broke open with a splintering crash. By their momentum, a dozen of Lord Fujikawa's men were carried halfway across the front courtyard before they were brought up short by the sight of Zenta waiting with drawn sword.

“Are you rioters?” demanded the ronin. “How dare you break into our house like this?”

Under his stern eyes, the men dropped the big round beam which they had used as a battering ram. Finally one man spoke up defiantly. “We are not rioters, but loyal samurai. We have come to avenge the death of our master.”

“To avenge your master, you must first find his slayer.”

“We have found him!” shouted the man. “Our master was killed by the foreigner's infernal weapon. That proves that the murderer was one of the Portuguese.”

Pedro could contain himself no longer. “The fact that Lord Fujikawa was killed by a gun doesn't prove that one of us shot him. Many of your countrymen have learned to use guns. Furthermore, I can show you that neither of my guns was used. Because of the humid weather, there will be rust on the trigger, and that shows that my guns have not been fired within the last two days.”

“You will show us two guns that have not been fired,” retorted another man, “but you may have hidden away the one that was used.” “If I go to the trouble of doing that, why bother to use a gun at all, knowing that it would point to me as the murderer?” asked Pedro.

But this logic was too complicated for the heated men. “Why do we waste time listening to this murderer?” shouted one man. “Let's kill him!”

He whipped out his sword and rushed at Pedro. Zenta's sword flashed up, and the attacker fell back, clutching his ribs.

“He is only bruised, and will recover after a day in bed,” Zenta told the others. “But if the rest of you insist on doing something rash, I may be forced to kill.”

Father Luis looked worriedly at the menacing circle of samurai who had drawn their swords and were surrounding Zenta. “Shouldn't we send for help?” he asked Pedro. “Yes, there is no time to be lost,” said Pedro. “Let's send one of our men to Nobunaga. He will save us.”

Since they spoke in Portuguese, Matsuzo didn't understand them but the young ronin must have caught Nobunaga's name. “No, we can't ask Nobunaga for help,” he said. “He wouldn't take sides in this affair. His power is not completely established, and some of the uncommitted feudal lords might use Lord Fujikawa's death as a cause for uniting against him.”

“What shall we do then?” asked Pedro. “Even if we hold these men in check for the time being, other people in the city can be stirred up against us.”

“We know that,” said Matsuzo. “That's why Zenta has sent one of your men to the shogun as soon as news of the murder reached us.”

“The shogun!” said Pedro, surprised. “But he is only a figurehead. He can't do anything.” “In this case he is our best hope. If we succeed in convincing
him
of your innocence, his judgment will be accepted by these men, because he was Lord Fujikawa's friend.” Meanwhile the men were growing bolder.

One of them suddenly cried, “I recognize this man! He was the ronin who cut off Kotaro's topknot. Well, that sort of carnival trick is useless in a real fight.” With that he charged.

Ducking the slashing attack, Zenta swept his sword up and around to include another attacker who was trying to reach him from the other side. This time he drew blood. The first attacker dropped his sword and staggered back, his sleeve stained crimson.

Pedro drew his rapier with a hiss. “There are too many attackers. We must help Zenta.” “No!” said Matsuzo, holding him back. “We will join the fight when it becomes necessary, but right now we will only spoil his timing.”

Pedro lowered his rapier and watched the skirmish with great interest. He could see that it was very different from combats with European weapons where there was a constant clash of swords as opponents tried to break through each other's guard. During this fight, however, there were long periods when Zenta and his opponents stood completely disengaged. Then there would be a sharp burst of furious activity, followed by another period of immobility, as the combatants planned their next move.

It was obvious that Lord Fujikawa's men were beginning to know their opponent's caliber, for there were longer pauses between attacks as they became more cautious. They also stopped trying to attack him singly. Instead, groups of two or more of them tried to catch each other's eye and launch simultaneous attacks.

For his part Zenta was watching for telltale signs, such as a flicker of the eyes, a deepened breathing or a sliding of feet, in order to predict which of the men would be the ones to make the rush.

Pedro now understood why Matsuzo had told him not to interfere. Zenta could time his moves to meet attacks from several directions at once, but it was essential not to disturb his concentration.

All at once four of the men rushed in to attack together, and Matsuzo finally whipped out his sword and jumped forward. But he immediately retreated again. Zenta had kicked sharply at the round beam which had been used as a battering ram, setting it rolling towards two of the enemy. One of the men succeeded in jumping clear, but the other man had his legs struck from under him. He fell heavily on his face just as one of his comrades behind him chose this unfortunate moment to launch an attack. What followed was a rather confused scramble. Before the beam rolled to a stop, a number of people tripped over people who tripped over those who tripped over the beam.

A chuckle came from Father Luis, and Pedro sheathed his rapier. He could see that things were going well.

Lord Fujikawa's men eventually pulled themselves together, but before they could resume the offensive, the broken front gate squeaked on its crooked hinges and an orderly file of samurai entered the courtyard. They were escorting a sedan chair.

The chair was set down on the ground, and from it emerged a gentleman in formal dress. He surveyed the disorder around him with a look of mild surprise. “Oh, my,” he said in a high, affected voice. “What have we here?”

Chapter 8

 

 

“Hambei,” said Nobunaga, “I am concerned about the safety of the Portuguese. Lord Fujikawa's men may break in and slaughter the whole household to avenge their master's death.”

“Zenta and his assistant can hold them off,” said Hambei. “Besides, the foreigner still has two of his guns. They are not in immediate danger of being massacred.”

“But what if Zenta or the Portuguese killed some of the Fujikawa men?” asked Nobunaga. “That would look bad and inflame the people's hatred of foreigners.”

“It won't come to that,” said Hambei. “Chiyo told me that Zenta has sent to the shogun for help. It should be arriving very soon.”

“The shogun!” exclaimed Nobunaga.

“Yes,” said Hambei. “Lord Fujikawa's men can't accuse the shogun of being partial to the Portuguese.”

After a moment Nobunaga nodded approval and smiled. “That's a clever move on Zenta's part. I'm looking forward to having him in my service.”

 

The elegant figure who stepped out of the sedan chair in front of the house of the Portuguese looked incongruous. Zenta thought at first that he was a nobleman of the imperial court who had blundered into the courtyard by mistake.

The man identified himself. “I am Mitani Kagemasa, and I have been dispatched by the shogun to investigate Lord Fujikawa's murder.”

“You are from the shogun?” cried one of Lord Fujikawa's men. “Now we shall see some justice! Did Lady Yuki send for you?”

Kagemasa fussily arranged his wide sleeves before replying. “No, the message was not from Lady Yuki. We received news of Lord Fujikawa's murder from the Portuguese.”

While the Fujikawa samurai murmured their surprise, Pedro turned to Father Luis and explained the newcomer's identity. The priest nodded. He walked forward to Kagemasa, bowed gravely and spoke in his calm, deep voice.