The Samurai and the Long-Nosed Devils Read online

  The Samurai

  and the

  Long-Nosed

  Devils

  The Samurai

  and the

  Long-Nosed

  Devils

  Lensey Namioka

  TUTTLE PUBLISHING

  Boston • Rutland, Vermont • Tokyo

  Originally published in 1976 by David McKay Company, Inc. Paperback edition first published in 2004 by Tuttle Publishing, an imprint of Periplus Editions (HK) Ltd., with editorial offices at 364 Innovation Drive, North Clarendon, VT 05759 U.S.A.

  Copyright © 1976 Lensey Namioka

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  Library of Congress Control Number 2004105501

  ISBN 978-1-4629-0124-1 (ebook)

  Distributed by

  North America, Latin America & Europe

  Tuttle Publishing

  364 Innovation Drive

  North Clarendon, VT 05759-9436

  Tel: (802) 773-8930

  Fax: (802) 773-6993

  [email protected]

  www.tuttlepublishing.com

  Japan

  Tuttle Publishing

  Yaekari Building, 3rd Floor

  5-4-12 Osaki Shinagawa-ku

  Tokyo 141 0032

  Tel: (03) 5437-0171

  Fax: (03) 5437-0755

  [email protected]

  Asia Pacific

  Berkeley Books Pte. Ltd.

  61 Tai Seng Avenue, #02-12

  Singapore 534167

  Tel: (65) 6280 1330

  Fax: (65) 6280-6290

  [email protected]

  www.periplus.com

  First paperback edition

  08 07 06 05 04 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Design by Linda Carey

  Printed in Canada

  List of Characters

  Zenta and Matsuzo, two ronin who become bodyguards to the Portuguese

  Chiyo, girlfriend of Hambei, attendant of Lady Yuki

  Hambei, henchman to Nobunaga

  Kotaro, samurai serving Lord Fujikawa

  Lady Yuki, daughter of Lord Fujikawa

  Father Luis, Portuguese missionary

  Pedro, Portuguese mercenary soldier

  Nobunaga, warlord in the process of unifying Japan (a real character)

  Maria, Japanese girl converted to Christianity, serving the Portuguese

  Lord Fujikawa, nobleman who hates the Portuguese

  Kagemasa, sent to investigate a murder

  Ungen, warrior Buddhist monk

  Abbot, of the mountain monastery

  Chapter 1

  Breathless after crossing the mountain pass, the two travelers stood for a moment and looked down on the dark gray roofs of Miyako. The capital city was situated in a small plain surrounded on three sides by mountains. On this July afternoon, the heat lay trapped in the city as if in a large bowl. The air vibrated with the heat, and to the tired eyes of the travelers, the roof tiles seemed to be jumping up and down.

  The men each wore two swords thrust into their sashes, marking them as samurai. Their kimonos were of silk and had once been even elegant, but they were now torn and white with dust. On their feet the travelers wore straw sandals nearly falling apart from hard use. Still, the two men carried themselves with the unconscious haughtiness of the warrior class, although it was clear from their shabby condition that they were ronin, or unemployed samurai.

  As they made their way down into the city, Matsuzo, the younger of the two ronin, removed his large basket-shaped hat and wiped his face with his sleeve. “How much money do we have left?” he asked.

  Zenta, his companion, groped inside the front of his kimono and brought out a few coins. “I’m afraid this is all we have.” Matsuzo’s face fell. “Well, it should be enough for a bath, at least. Let’s go find a public bathhouse.”

  Although he was young and had a pleasant, open countenance, it was not his habit to spend much thought on his appearance. But now that he was entering the capital city of Miyako, he was conscious of his grubbiness.

  Zenta, several years older and widely traveled, had very different ideas about how to spend the last of their money. “We need food more than a bath,” he said. “We came to Miyako in order to enter Nobunaga’s service. Since he is fast becoming the most powerful man in the country, thousands of ronin are rushing to enlist with him. To improve our chances of being hired, we must make a good first impression by building up our strength with a solid meal.”

  Prickly heat was making Matsuzo irritable, and he spoke to Zenta without his usual respect. “How do you expect us to make a good first impression on Nobunaga when we look like this! We won’t even get past the guards at his front gate!”

  “Nobunaga is certainly not going to hire two weaklings who are tottering from hunger,” said Zenta. It was true that he looked famished. He removed his straw hat to reveal a thin face with somewhat aquiline features. He was taller than his companion, and he had a naturally spare build which the recent lean days had reduced to near gauntness.

  “When we had the fight with those bandits last week, we hadn’t eaten for two days,” retorted Matsuzo. “I don’t remember seeing you totter then.”

  But Zenta was not listening. He was drawn irresistibly to a street stall which sold broiled eel. The cook brushed a thick brown sauce on the pieces of eel sizzling on the hot grill, and a delicious aroma filled the air. The hollowness in Matsuzo’s stomach became suddenly urgent and his mouth began to water. Bath forgotten, he found himself following Zenta to the stall.

  Before the two men could give their orders to the cook, they heard sounds of quarreling down the street. It was a narrow street, made yet more crowded by the temporary stalls constructed for the coming Gion Festival. Jostling was all too easy, and when the person jostled turned out to be a touchy samurai, the result could be violent.

  In this particular quarrel, however, they could hear the shrill voice of a woman. In the next moment she cried, “Let me go! Let me go!” “You are coming with us!” ordered a man’s voice roughly.

  Matsuzo turned and pushed his way towards the conflict. He was new to the life of a wandering ronin, and he still cherished the romantic ideal of the samurai as the defender of the weak.

  Zenta gave a last regretful look at the broiled eel. After some years as a ronin, he was experienced enough to know that it was best not to interfere in domestic quarrels, which this one probably was. “Whatever you do, don’t draw your sword,” he warned as he reluctantly followed Matsuzo.

  Reaching the scene of the conflict first, Matsuzo saw that one of the combatants was a tall, muscular man with a white cotton scarf on his head. The scarf was worn low across the forehead, with the corners tied at the back of the neck. It was the headdress of a warrior monk. For more than seven hundred years these monks, who lived on Mt. Hiei just northeast of Miyako, had terrified the people of the capital, including even the emperors.

  Matsuzo was outraged to see that the monk had his grasp on a wildly struggling young girl. She was clearly not a peasant girl, for her skin was fine and white and her kimono expensive looking. Although small and slender, she stubbornly continued the unequal struggle against her huge opponent.

  With a sharp twist the girl succeeded in tearing herself free. She looked around for help, and her eyes fell on Matsuzo, standing straight and noble, the very picture of a brave protector. She ran around to his back and put her arms tightly about his waist.

  The m
onk turned and saw the young ronin. Glaring at this new enemy, he hunched his massive shoulders and growled.

  “He reminds me of a wild boar,” thought Matsuzo, “with his mean little eyes and thick neck. Why, he’s even pawing the ground with his feet.”

  Exactly like a wild boar, the monk made a sudden vicious charge. But Matsuzo was prepared. When the monk was two paces away, the young ronin quickly stepped aside, clinging girl and all, and thrust out his foot. Unable to stop himself, the monk tripped over Matsuzo’s foot, staggered wildly, and ended by crashing into the eel vendor’s stall.

  A hoarse scream arose from the collapsed wooden stand, torn canvas and scattered charcoal. The smell of burning human flesh was now added to the aroma of broiled eel. The girl released her hold on Matsuzo and ran to the eel stand. Taking one look at her former adversary, she threw back her head and burst out laughing. Matsuzo found her laughter very infectious, and soon he and most of the bystanders in the street joined her.

  It is annoying to be the object of general laughter while one is sitting on a hot grill next to some eels. The furious monk bellowed. He thrust himself up from the wreckage of the eel vendor’s stand and reached for his staff, a murderous weapon tipped with iron.

  Matsuzo stopped laughing and watched the approach of the monk with grim satisfaction.

  He now had a perfect excuse for drawing his sword.

  Meanwhile Zenta had not been idle. He had noticed something which Matsuzo had not, that among the onlookers were two other monks wearing identical headdresses. When Matsuzo reached for his sword, the other two monks hurried forward to the aid of their companion. But well before the first monk had picked himself up from the eel stall, Zenta had already acted. Quickly and inconspicuously, he worked his way through the crowd until he was standing directly behind the two watching monks. He took out a piece of looped cord used by all samurai to tie their wide sleeves out of the way in preparation for action. But instead of tying his own sleeves back, he tied the sleeves of the two monks together.

  The monks noticed nothing so long as they walked forward side by side; but when they separated to attack Matsuzo, they jerked to a standstill. Annoyed, both men simultaneously gave a sharp tug. It was the height of summer, and the men were wearing thin cotton kimonos loosely tied at the waist with a sash. At this tug-of-war the man whose sash was less tightly knotted found himself stripped down to his loincloth. The other man’s kimono was pulled off his shoulders, but his sash held tight, and he was left bare to the waist with his friend’s kimono draped over his ankles.

  The angry curses of the two monks drew the attention of the crowd away from the drama at the eel stand. When the girl saw the near-naked men, she burst into fresh peals of laughter. “Look at their fat stomachs!” she cried. “I don’t think these monks are very strict about their vegetarian diet!”

  One of the monks had finally discovered the cord that was tying the two sleeves together. After trying without success to loosen the tight knot, he whipped out a short, ugly knife and slashed apart the sleeves. Then, knife in hand, he advanced on Matsuzo as the person responsible.

  Now that bloodshed seemed inevitable, the crowd fell silent and pressed back, leaving an arena cleared for action. Zenta shook his head gloomily. His hand dropped to his sword and his thumb pressed against the guard, easing the sword up for instant release.

  The sound of hoofbeats suddenly broke the silence, and a man at the edge of the crowd cried, “Some soldiers are coming! They look like Nobunaga’s men!”

  The crowd quickly drained away. The first to leave were the three monks, who thrust themselves roughly past the townspeople and disappeared into a side street. After his troops had occupied Miyako, one of Nobunaga’s first acts had been to suppress all lawless elements in the capital city.

  Zenta grabbed Matsuzo. “We’d better leave, too. We can’t be brought to Nobunaga’s attention as participants in a public brawl.”

  But before the two ronin could leave, a voice said, “Don’t go.” It was the girl. Indicating the leading horseman, she said, “I know this officer well, and I shall tell him that you came to my rescue.”

  When the officer saw the girl, he dismounted and hurried to her. “Chiyo! I heard that some monks were attacking you. Are you hurt?”

  “I only have a few scratches,” replied the girl called Chiyo. “I’m in better condition than my attacker, thanks to the help of these two kind gentlemen.”

  The officer turned to look at the ronin. When he saw Zenta, his eyes widened. “Konishi Zenta!” he cried. “Now that I look at the total shambles here, I should have known that it was you!”

  Chapter 2

  “I had nothing whatever to do with it!” protested Zenta. “This girl can tell you.”

  The officer was grinning broadly. Not quite so tall as Zenta, he was strongly built and had an expressive face with lines of laughter around his eyes. “I’m not accusing you of anything,” he said. “I’m merely pointing out that when you are around, things happen. Doors pop out of their frames, saddles slip from horses’ backs and helmets fly from people’s heads. Wasn’t that a naked monk I just saw? Don’t tell me you weren’t responsible!”

  “Then you two are old friends?” asked Matsuzo, surprised.

  “Hambei and I are old acquaintances,”corrected Zenta. “Don’t believe half of the things that he tells about me. He is famous for his lies and his practical jokes. Most of the incidents he mentioned just now were started by him, and I had to save him from the consequences.” Hambei made no effort to deny Zenta’s statement and only laughed heartily. “You look half-starved, as usual,” he said. “Come on. I know a good restaurant not far from here.”

  “I must go back to my master’s house,” said Chiyo. She bowed low to the two ronin and murmured her thanks for their help. Her solemn expressions of gratitude ended in a smile of pure mischief. Although Chiyo’s eyes were too big for perfect beauty in the classical sense, they were alive with humor and intelligence.

  Matsuzo found the girl enchanting, and he was quite sorry that she and Hambei seemed to have some sort of understanding already.

  After dismissing his men, Hambei led the two ronin to one of the many eating places overlooking the Kamo River. The ground floor was crowded with customers trying to find some coolness in the river breezes. Matsuzo, conscious of his own grubby condition, read amusement in the glances of the people. On his travels he was accustomed to the respect given to his two swords and his status as a samurai. But the sophisticated citizens of the capital city seemed to show no awe whatsoever for a provincial warrior. All the benches of the ground floor dining room were occupied and no one seemed inclined to make room for the three samurai.

  Hambei, however, was a favored customer. The proprietor bustled forward andconducted them to a private room on the second floor. One side of the room was almost completely open to the river, and Matsuzo was delighted with the view. There before his eyes were scenes famous in poetry and song: the banks of the Kamo River, the Gojo Bridge, and in the distance the Eastern Hills glowing in the late afternoon sun.

  The three men sat down on the floor, which was soft and springy with sweet-smelling tatami, a thick rush covered mat. In the provinces, Matsuzo had seen tatami only in the more prosperous homes. He accepted a hot towel from a serving girl and wiped his neck, surrendering himself to blissful luxury.

  After discussing the menu with the proprietor, Hambei turned to his two guests. “He recommended the broiled eel, since it’s the right dish for this weather. But I told him that you’ve probably had enough eel for the day. Now tell me: How did you manage to undress that monk?” While waiting for the meal to be served, Hambei and Zenta recalled some of their experiences together. With a mixture of horror and fascination, Matsuzo listened to accounts of pranks for which the two men narrowly escaped well-deserved punishment. Since Zenta avoided talking about himself, this was the first time that Matsuzo had heard about the lighter side of his friend’s past life. Zenta broke off his
reminiscing when the food arrived and devoted himself singlemindedly to his meal. Hambei looked on with a smile. “You’re all skin and bones. What happened? No work recently?”

  Zenta merely grunted and held out his rice bowl to the serving girl for a refill. Although Matsuzo rather liked this boisterous new companion, he frowned when he thought he detected a patronizing note in Hambei’s voice. “We’ve had plenty of work,” he said stiffly. “But it wasn’t always work for which we received payment.”

  Hambei looked amused by Matsuzo’s sensitivity. “You don’t have to tell me. I know what it’s like to travel with Zenta. He is notorious for being fastidious about his choice of masters.” There was envy in his voice as he added, “It doesn’t seem to harm his reputation. There was one petty warlord who was actually flattered when Zenta condescended to work for him. I really thought he was comfortably settled there for life. But he suddenly decided to leave. Do you know why? He didn’t like the way taxes were being collected! That warlord was so furious that I thought for a while Zenta wouldn’t be able to leave with his head on his shoulders.”

  Beneath Hambei’s flippant manner Matsuzo thought he detected a trace of real feeling. He guessed that the warlord’s anger had been spectacular. Judging from his own experiences with Zenta, Matsuzo had no difficulty believing Hambei’s story. He described the abrupt way in which they had left their recent employer, which had resulted in their present penniless condition. Under Hambei’s skillful questioning, he gave a detailed account of their activities during the past months. Hambei listened so intently that Matsuzo was flattered by his serious interest, until he realized that news of the more remote regions could be valuable to Hambei’s master Nobunaga.

  Finally Hambei turned to Zenta and said, “What are you doing in Miyako? I thought you were more interested in the activities of the northern warlords.”