Laura Joh Rowland - Sano Ichiro v03 The Way of the Traitor.pdf

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Laura Joh Rowland - Sano Ichiro 03 - Way of the Traitor
JAPAN
GENROKU PERIOD, YEAR 2, MONTH 5
(June 1690)
Prologue
LIKE A PALE moon, the sun's white globe rose in a mesh of drifting
clouds above the eastern hills beyond Nagasaki, the international port city
on Kyushu, the westernmost of Japan's four major islands. Mist clung to
the forested slopes and shrouded the city clustered around the. Bells
echoed from hillside temples, over the governor's stately mansion, the
townspeople's thatched houses, and the foreign settlements. In the harbor,
a salt-laden summer breeze stirred the sails of Japanese fishing boats,
Chinese junks, and myriad vessels from the exotic, faraway lands of
Arabia, Korea, Tonkin. A patrol barge glided down the corridor formed by
the harbor's high, wooded cliffs, past the watchtowers, toward a calm sea.
On the western horizon, the silhouettes of distant ships appeared as dawn
gradually pushed back night's curtain.
On a steep road leading away from town, a low, anguished moaning
heralded a solemn procession. First came Nagasaki's highest officials
"mounted samurai dressed in black ceremonial robes and caps "then four
hundred lesser dignitaries, attendants, servants, and merchants, all on foot.
Last marched a small army of soldiers armed with swords and spears,
guarding the terrified prisoner in their midst.
oNo, whispered the samurai between his moans, which grew louder as the
procession climbed higher into the hills. He had been stripped of his
swords, and all clothing except a loincloth. He tried to break free, but
heavy shackles hobbled his ankles; ropes bound his wrists behind his back.
Spears prodded him up the path. oThis can't be happening!
Amid the lower ranks of officials, one witness fought back fear and
nausea. He hated watching executions, but his attendance at this one was
mandatory, along with that of everyone else who had dealings with
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Nagasaki's foreign community. The bakufu "the military dictatorship that
ruled Japan "wanted to remind them all of what would happen to anyone
who violated the nation's harsh antitreason laws, to warn them against any
allegiance with the foreigners, no matter how innocent, or any act of
disloyalty toward the government. Here, in the only place where
foreigners were allowed in Japan, an ambitious man might gather
powerful allies and launch a rebellion against the Tokugawa regime. To
prevent this, the bakufu enforced the laws more rigorously than anywhere
else in the country, devoting immense effort to identifying and punishing
traitors. Even a minor infraction would inevitably lead to death.
oWhy are you doing this? the prisoner pleaded. oI beg you, have mercy!
No one answered. The march continued relentlessly, until at last the
members of the procession gathered on a plateau overlooking the city and
harbor. None spoke, but the witness sensed their emotions, hovering in the
moist air like a malignant cloud: fear; excitement; disgust. He watched,
terrified and appalled, as the army bore the captive into the center of the
plateau.
There waited four grim, muscular men with cropped hair, wearing ragged
kimonos. One, hammer in hand, stood beside a newly erected frame
composed of two wooden pillars joined by a crossbeam. Two others
seized the prisoner's arms and forced him to his knees beside the man
holding a sword; the sharp blade gleamed in the dawn light. These were
eta, outcasts who served as executioners, and they were ready to cut off
the prisoner's head and mount it on the frame as a warning to would-be
criminals.
oNo! the prisoner screamed. oPlease! Straining away from his captors, he
entreated the audience. oI've committed no crimes. I haven't done
anything to deserve this!
The witness longed to clap his hands over his ears and shut out the
screams, to close his eyes against the sight of the panic-stricken samurai
whose courage had fled before this ultimate disgrace, to deny his terrible
sense of identification with the condemned prisoner.
Hoofbeats clattered as the governor of Nagasaki urged his horse forward.
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oThe prisoner, Yoshid Ganzaemon, is guilty of treason, he announced in
grave, ceremonial tones.
oTreason? The samurai ceased struggling, his face blank with shock. oI'm
not a traitor. I've served the shogun well all my life. His voice rose in
disbelief. oI'm the hardest-working officer in the harbor patrol. I always
volunteer for extra duty. I risk my life in rough weather. I practice the
martial arts so that I can someday bring my lord glory on the battlefield.
I've never acted against the shogun or his regime. Whoever says so is
lying!
But the governor's voice drowned out his plea. oYoshid Ganzaemon has
cravenly denounced the lord to whom he owes his ultimate duty and
loyalty. He has called His Excellency the Shogun Tokugawa Tsunayoshi a
weak, stupid fool.
The witness knew that Yoshid had insulted the shogun during a party in
the pleasure quarter, where the courtesans flattered and the sake flowed
freely, removing men's inhibitions and loosening their tongues. Nagasaki
boasted more spies than anywhere else in Japan, all alert to the slightest
transgressions. They'd overheard Yoshid's careless words and brought
him to this sorry fate as they had many others.
oI didn't mean it, Yoshid protested. oI was drunk; I didn't know what I
was saying. A thousand apologies! He tried to bow, but the two eta held
him firmly. oPlease, you can't kill me for one little mistake!
No one spoke in his defense, not even the witness, who knew of the
man's exemplary record and character. To take a traitor's side would
mean sharing his guilt, and punishment.
oFor his dishonor, Yoshid Ganzaemon is hereby sentenced to death. The
governor nodded to the executioners.
Now the prisoners fear turned to rage. oSo you condemn me as a traitor?
he shouted at the silent, watchful assembly. oWhen there are much, much
worse criminals in Nagasaki than I? Harsh, bitter laughter exploded from
him. oJust take a look around Deshima, and you'll see!
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The crowd stirred; murmurs swept the plateau like a troubled wind. The
witness gasped at the accusation, for Yoshid spoke the truth. By
unfortunate accident, the witness had discovered shocking activity on
Deshima, the Dutch trade colony. He'd observed clandestine comings and
goings, illegal transactions, forbidden collusion between foreigners and
Japanese. Even worse, he believed he knew who bore the primary
responsibility for the crimes. Now his bowels loosened; he swayed dizzily.
If an underling like Yoshid knew about the crimes, then who else did, or
would eventually find out?
The governor held up a hand, arresting all sound and motion. oProceed!
he ordered.
The eta seized the looped knot of hair at Yoshid ~s nape and yanked,
forcing his head high, holding it immobile. The witness's heart thudded; his
limbs went numb and cold in horrible empathy. He saw himself in Yoshid's
place, ready to die not in glorious battle, or honorably by his own hand in
ritual suicide as befitting a samurai, but in disgrace, a convicted traitor.
Then he pictured the person he suspected of the Deshima crime, kneeling
beside the executioner whose sword now rose in a high, deadly arc. A
person to whose fate his own was inextricably bound. Would they die
together like this, someday? The penalty for a crime of such magnitude
was death not just for the criminal, but also for his whole family and all
close associates. Please, the witness prayed in mute terror, let it not
happen!
oOh, yes, there are bigger villains than I, who are probably committing
their evil, treasonous deeds even now. Punish them instead!
Yoshid's hysterical voice echoed through the hills, in vain. Panic
sharpened the witness's senses. He heard the crowd's simultaneous intake
of breath, smelled anticipation mingling with the salty sea breeze. Under
the sun's blind, merciless eye, and over the hammering of his own heart,
he heard Yoshid scream: oNo, please, no no no NO!
The executioners sword slashed downward. In a great red fountain of
blood, the blade severed Yoshid's head, forever ending his protests and
accusations.
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