It was the opportunity of a lifetime. But who would care for his father if he fell ill? Who would run his shop while he was away? What if the ship was sunk by a typhoon? Or, returning, he found that politics had shifted again, and that they were barred from reentering Japan?
He had not, of course, been formally offered the position. He would have to make a decision soon, and send word of what it was. If, and only if, he said he intended to accept, would he receive the offer. No Japanese official would make such an offer without knowing in advance that it would be accepted. Embarrassment must be avoided.
December 1633,
Edo (Tokyo), Japan
The guardsman approached. “There is no one else in the garden, my lord.”
“No one?”
“No one, anymore, I mean. We chased out a pair of lovers.”
“Very good. Post a guard at the entrance of the garden. Allow no one to enter, save for the one who presents the token I told you about.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
The lord, wearing a large hat that shadowed his face, looked up at the moon. “It is a pity that it lacks a handle. On an evening this sultry, I would like a silver fan with which to cool myself.” It was an allusion to one of Yamazaki Sokan’s verses, written a century earlier.
His cloaked companion smiled. “We are in a garden. You could break off a stick of bamboo, and use that.”
They stood in silence for a few moments.
“The kirishitan are a great threat to Japan, and to the Bakufu.”
“I heartily agree with Your Excellency.”
“Suppose that the kirishitan have devised a devilish scheme.”
“What sort of scheme?”
“To set up gunpowder mines all over Edo. Then, on a windy night, light the fuses, and burn down the city. The shogun would die, as would all of his councillors, and those of the daimyo that were in attendance upon him. The emperor, in Kyoto, would be taken captive, and he would become a Portuguese puppet.”
“How horrible! You have found evidence of such a plan?”
“Alas, no. Hence, for the good of the realm, we must . . . create . . . such evidence. Before the dreadful event can in fact occur. Give the shogun reason to rethink his policy once again. Think of it as a kabuki play, in which the characters suddenly step off the stage and walk among the audience.”
His manner became abrupt. “It should be simple enough for you to obtain the gunpowder. Inside the barrels, place Christian symbols. Then all that is needed is an anonymous tip to the police, before the explosion can be triggered, and soon thereafter . . . the vicious kirishitan conspiracy is unveiled.” He smiled thinly. “And of course, I will be promoted for unveiling it. Perhaps even to the Roju.”
His spymaster raised an eyebrow. “Planting the gunpowder will not be too difficult. However, the problem is that the conspiracy will be faceless. The Great Lord will want kirishitan to confess to the crime and be punished appropriately.” In Japan, where most buildings were of wood construction, the penalty for arson was to be burnt alive.
“Every few months, we find a few more cowering kirishitan. If we ask them . . . vigorously . . . enough, they will admit that they were involved. Problem solved.”
“Indeed. But wait. I have spies among the kirishitan. They wait for the opportunity to catch a big prize, a Spanish or Portuguese padre. But suppose I have one of them try to recruit a few fools to become part of the ‘conspiracy’?”
“Ah, I see. They will be sent somewhere to await the explosion . . . with the explanation that once it occurs, they are to seize what is left of the castle . . . the police will arrest them, and they will think they were part of a real conspiracy.”
“My Lord is most perceptive.”
“But what if no one volunteers?”
“They will still remember the visit of the recruiter. And they can confess that to the inquisitor.”
“Excellent. Now let’s discuss where and when.”
* * *
Kodama Katsuo would live to see another sunrise. Katsuo wished he could one day tell his grandchildren that his survival had been the result of his wisdom, or his keen senses, or his swordmanship. In truth, it was because he didn’t snore.
Lying under a bush, so that the light of the full moon would not disturb his beauty rest, he had heard the entire plot. He had remained as still as possible, his breath slow and shallow and above all, silent.
He had heard the lord and his spymaster leave. He hadn’t seen their faces, but he didn’t have to. He had seen the mon, the family crest, on the sleeves and back of the guards’ haori. And the voice was one he recognized from the time that he had been samurai, not ronin. It was that of Inoue Masashige. As one of the sixteen metsuke, the “inspectors” of the Tokugawa intelligence service, he had decided that Katsuo’s former master was untrustworthy, and persuaded the shogun to cut his estate in half. Which in turn had meant that he could no longer afford to keep Katsuo in his service.