Pathway to Japanese Literature

Part I

“Oh! Young Lord Matsune!”

“――――”

When struck by that voice of mesmerizing dread, he turned silently—a swarthy-complexioned man of twenty-three or twenty-four years, bearing a somber air yet radiating an inexplicable depth.

Caught off-guard by the sudden address, even as his right hand tilted the woven sedge hat, his left thumb kept constant pressure on his sword’s collar—a habit born either from having enemies or ingrained wariness, marking him unmistakably as a youth of unrelenting vigilance.

“Then is that not you, Lord Yogunosuke?”

“And you?”

“Oaki. Oaki, the daughter of the former wet nurse.”

She was a charming woman past her prime—when she smiled without restraint, her peach-hued allure seemed poised to scatter across the entire surroundings.

Yogunosuke reflexively retreated two or three steps as though warding off phantoms.

At most twenty-two or twenty-three—though deemed an older woman, she likely stood a year or two younger than Yogunosuke—she wore a newly fashionable obi of extravagant design fastened low about her hips, layered sleeves of vivid leaf-green clinging like sprouting shoots, and when she tilted a cheek to feign refinement, a faint dimple swirled languidly within her alabaster complexion.

“Ah, so it’s Oaki. It has been a long time.”

“Have you come to pay your respects?”

Having been called out upon exiting Asakusa Kannon's Nio Gate, this could only mean pilgrimage—in that era when Okuzan still lacked its later spectacles, no acrobats balancing on globes—

"Indeed."

“Please do stop by my house, Lord Yogunosuke.”

“Well…”

“How delighted mother would be.”

“Is it nearby?”

"Right there—look, you can see it, can't you?"

Speaking with a touch of brusqueness, Oaki pointed toward the rear of Denbō-in Temple as she drew closer. When he saw her finger glittering like a peach-colored pearl, backlit by the setting sun, he likely ceased to care about whatever house had been his intended destination.

The two of them went together from Tahara-machi to Jakotsu Nagaya with few words exchanged.

Within the well-polished latticework hung a sacred lamp, while above the long hearth in the sitting room lay two shamisen—seeing this, Matsune Yogunosuke faltered in his steps, but having come this far, Oaki would not let him leave.

At that time, Oaki was one of the town geishas scattered throughout Edo.

"Originally?"

Before even taking a seat, Yogunosuke was restlessly surveying his surroundings.

"Mother is there, Lord Yogunosuke."

She pointed toward a modest Buddhist altar.

"What? She’s dead?"

"Oh, I didn’t say she was in good health—I did say she was waiting, ho ho."

"That’s..."

Matsune Yogunosuke bit back a bitter smile.
Though he had indeed been deceived into coming this far, seeing Oaki's mischievous-girl-like sly smirk made getting angry seem utterly foolish.

“Even so, mother kept saying until her death—‘Lord Yogunosuke may appear gentle, but given his honored swordsmanship within the clan, he will surely make those villains understand—’”

“――――”

“The destruction of the Mogami clan and the suspicious demise of your late lord—all were undoubtedly the work of Lord Yamanobe Uemon and his ilk like Tateoka. Some retainers cared nothing for the clan’s ruin, defying the shogunate to ascend Koyasan Mountain. Yet many others remain here in Edo, squandering ill-gotten wealth in utmost luxury.”
“By inheriting your late father Lord Matsune Bizen’s will, you will surely vanquish those villains, Lord Yogunosuke—your wet nurse said she would watch it from the netherworld. That is what she told me, Lord Yogunosuke.”

“——”

Matsune Yogunosuke was startled. That such an outlandish ambition as vanquishing the Mogami Clan’s villains would issue from the lips of this seductive woman—Yogunosuke had never imagined such a thing.

It was on the eighteenth day of the seventh month of Genna 8—about a year and a half prior to this story—that Mogami Gen Gorō Yoshitoshi, lord of Yamagata Castle, had his domain confiscated and his senior retainers had been entrusted to various daimyos.

The Mogami Clan’s downfall stemmed partly from Lord Gen Gorō Yoshitoshi’s neglect of governance in favor of carnal indulgences, but what hastened its collapse was a faction within the domain campaigning to install Yamanobe Uemon no Tayu Yoshitada. Yoshitoshi's father Iechika had been poisoned at Tateoka Kai's residence, and Yogunosuke's father Matsune Bizen had appealed to the shogunate to establish the truth of the matter, but lacking evidence, he was defeated and exiled. Using this as pretext, the shogunate confiscated the Yamagata domain and confined Yoshitoshi and his mother to house arrest in Ōmi-Mikawa with a stipend of 10,000 koku.

II

“Lord Yogunosuke—both Yamanobe and Tateoka have returned to Edo with shameless bravado.”

“——”

“When I hear rumors of them living in comfort at Yamanobe’s lodge in Mukōjima, playing go and such—it simply enrages me.”

“――――”

“Cut down those two men to clear the late lord’s obsession—bring solace to your father Lord Bizen enduring lonely days of house arrest in Yanagawa. Do this for them.”

“No—”

Matsune Yogunosuke finally raised his face.
Before he knew it, day had darkened and lamps were lit—he found himself beside Oaki, reluctantly sipping from a sake cup.

“I just can’t bring myself to it.”
“I well understand Father’s intention to purge the traitors within our clan through litigation, but now that our lord has fallen, it only stirred up trouble.”
“I am not unaware that the Yamanobe faction enjoys senior councilors’ protection, but even if we were to kill each other now, it would not restore the Mogami clan. It would only invite further resentment from the authorities and bring trouble upon our lord confined in Ōmi-Mikawa.”

Matsune Yogunosuke’s reasoning was logical enough, yet it came across as timid and unconvincing.

“In that case, Lord Yogunosuke, isn’t this resignation of yours too extreme? To remain silent while the enemies of the Mogami clan—your late father’s foes—live in luxury before your very eyes... For the sake of your swords—”

“Oaki, I’ve even come to deeply think—about throwing away these dual swords and becoming a townsman or farmer.”

“Lord Yogunosuke.”

Oaki sidled closer from across the hearth, placed her hands on Yogunosuke’s knees, and peered into his face with a slight shake. A blend of hero worship and allure—characteristic of an Edo town geisha—set Oaki’s very blood ablaze, appearing certain to ignite the fuse of belligerence within this splendid idol: the heart of Matsune Yogunosuke.

“No—don’t say any more. I’ve grown timid.”

“How could such a thing be possible, Lord Yogunosuke? You who were called the finest swordsman in all Mogami—”

“No—skill and soul are separate things. I can no longer even conceive of cutting people down.”

“――――”

Oaki silently placed her hands on the man’s shoulders—then began pounding her seething body into him.

“Oaki, I’ll come again.”
“Oh? Lord Yogunosuke.”

Propping up Oaki’s leaning form in mid-air, Yogunosuke quietly rose to his feet.

“Oaki.”

“Does this not go too far, Lord Yogunosuke? I—who have neither heaven nor earth to rely upon—being swept away by the joy of meeting my foster brother, I scarce know what words escaped me. Yet if this parting proves final, it would leave my heart burdened with regret.”
“At least remain here tonight—let us speak of times past.”

“I will return.”

Oaki could cling no further. Twisting in fruitless anguish, she verged on tears.

“Then at least tell me where you’re staying.”

“In Honjo Banba-cho—a humble ronin residence at Ichibei-dana.”

“Would it trouble you if I came?”

“No, that’s—”
“Lady Kanoko is with you, isn’t she?”

“――――”

Matsune Yogunosuke stood outside the alley in the evening dusk.
While Oaki’s suffocatingly alluring overtures were one matter, he found himself recalling the purity of his betrothed—young, noble, and wise Kanoko—who ought to be keeping lonely vigil at their ronin residence in Honjo Banba-cho.

三

“You have returned.”

“I’m terribly late—you must have known, Kanoko—I met with Oaki, the daughter of my former wet nurse.”

“My— She was a beautiful person. I wonder what she does for a living?”

“――――”

“Town geisha”—even Matsune Yogunosuke couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Kanoko—who had just turned nineteen, who even after a year of living across from him in their narrow ronin residence neither sought to remove nor permitted the removal of pre-wedding barriers—compared to Oaki, was a being of far purer nature.

“Mr. Endo came by earlier.”

“Endo?”

“Mr. Simon Endo.”

“What?!”

Yogunosuke heard Kanoko’s words—whispered while darting glances around them—as though struck by lightning. The face he turned toward the lamp paled so abruptly it seemed drained of blood.

“As the present authorities particularly detest that religion, whatever may transpire, you must exercise utmost caution—but should the worst come to pass, Mr. Simon said we must avoid any cowardly conduct.”

Raising hands that had been demurely folded on her knees, then tracing a faint cross over her breast, Kanoko lifted her gaze to Yogunosuke’s face.

Though Yogunosuke still refused to take in the teachings of the true God, how happily she had been watching him nonetheless—drawn into Kanoko’s devout daily life as of late—gradually adopting a humble frame of mind.

Had someone like Simon Endo—that peerless oratorical leader among Edo’s Kirishitan believers—been allowed to preach, there might have been some means to draw even a fraction of her betrothed’s heart closer to God’s will. Yet the severity of recent prohibitions rendered even such hopes unattainable.

“I appreciate your honesty—but meeting Mr. Simon Endo is dangerous. You must take care.”

“Yes.”

An awkward discomfort hung between them—the two were thinking of entirely different matters.

“Oaki says such strange things.”

After some time had passed—without preamble—Yogunosuke began to speak.

“――――”

Meeting that with quiet modesty—blinking black eyes.

“Yamanobe and Tateoka’s faction are living in luxury at Mukōjima—the enemies of the Mogami Clan, the grudges of Mogami—we cannot simply let that pass—so they say.”

“My…”

“For martial arts’ sake—she says we should cut them down.”

“Though one such as myself has no place to speak—Lord Yogunosuke, this would mean piling conflict upon conflict until blood washes blood.”

“Well then,”

“Please, do not trouble yourself with such matters—this is Kanoko’s earnest plea.”

“Don’t worry—it’s not that I’m considering any course of action. I merely thought there was some merit to Oaki’s words. But I’ve no desire left to cut people down or see bloodshed.”

“Lord Yogunosuke.”

The two of them did not take each other’s hands, but like paired dolls, exchanged quiet looks.

“Good evening.”

“Yes?”

Suddenly, someone knocked on the front gate that had just been locked.

“I have come from Asakusa. Miss Oaki has narrowly escaped mortal peril—if left unattended, there’s no telling what may befall her. She implores you to grant her request, my lord—”

“What?!”
“What happened to Oaki?”

When Matsune Yogunosuke peered out through the lattice, outside lay only a cold moon—no trace of human presence was visible.

"What could have happened?"

Pushing aside the flustered Kanoko, Matsune Yogunosuke tucked his dual swords under his arm and—probing with his toes in his geta sandals—swiftly rushed out.

“Kanoko, I’ll be back!”

"Oh, wait—"

“Don’t worry—I’m leaving this to you.”

Like a swift wind, the man’s figure melted into the moon’s shadow.

It was during those days—the 24th day of the 11th month of Genna 9 (1623)—when Town Magistrate Yonezu Kanbee and his men were in a frenzy, hunting down every last associate of figures like the Italian Father Geronimo and John Hara Mondo, who had once served as a page to Ieyasu with a 1,500-koku stipend.

“You wretch!”

Matsune Yogunosuke leaped in, flipped the back of his sword, and in an instant subdued two or three people.

“Wh-what the hell are you doing?!”

The encirclement naturally broke, and five or six rough men—their faces wrapped in hand towels and cloths—brandishing clubs and daggers, charged from three directions.

“You insolent wretches!”

He swiftly subdued another one or two—these were never opponents worth cutting down in the first place.
He delivered a backhand strike to create a dangerous air, then grabbed the forearms of the nearest ones and sent them tumbling—the opponents,

“There!”

Leaving behind a peculiar signal, they scattered like spiderlings and vanished without a trace.

Left behind were only two people—Oaki still bound, and Yogunosuke standing frozen. Oaki’s appearance at this moment was something utterly indescribable and strange.

A single red underrobe remained tied behind her back, her legs exposed and splayed out—the sight possessed an eerie beauty that seared itself into the eyes.
Yogunosuke too, for a time, found himself unable to act, merely staring in blank astonishment.

“My, how long do you intend to keep staring? Isn’t this embarrassing?”

A mass of red writhed and twisted before his eyes,

——

Yogunosuke instinctively turned his face away and leaped back.

“Please untie me.”

“Oh.”

Finally noticing the woman was bound, Yogunosuke moved behind her to attempt untying the ropes, but whether captivated by her uncanny posture or not, his fingers refused to obey him.
Even so, what an elaborate binding this was.

“Please cut the ropes.”

“Hmm.”

As if suddenly remembering, he picked up the bare blade he had placed on the tatami mat, slid it between the ropes binding her wrists, and swiftly cut through them.

“Ah!”

It was blood—no, what he had mistaken for blood was the long underrobe licking at her flame-white skin.

“Lord Yogunosuke, I... I am so frustrated.”

When the ropes were untied, Oaki stretched up and buried her face in Yogunosuke’s chest as if clinging to him.

“What’s wrong, Oaki?”

“That was Tateoka’s doing.”

“Tateoka?”

“He has been tormenting me by changing methods again and again, trying to make me perform shameful services.”

“——”

A strange antipathy welled up in Yogunosuke’s chest.

“Lord Yogunosuke, I can endure this no longer—I implore you.”
“At least let Tateoka know his place—if only him!”

“Very well—where in Mukōjima?”

“I shall be your guide.”

Oaki rose up and threw on her kosode as if casting a net over herself.
She cinched her obi tight until the fabric creaked, straightened her hemline with practiced tugs, then tested her footing with two-three sharp stamps against the floorboards.

“Let’s go.”

Matsune Yogunosuke had already gone outside.

“Shall I bring something?”

“——”

“We have no guns or short swords, but if a kitchen knife or razor that cuts well will suffice, those we do have.”

“Don’t be absurd!”

“Oh ho ho.”

With a gust of fragrant wind leading the way, Oaki too stepped outside, lining up beside him with nostalgic familiarity as she tilted her head back to gaze up at Yogunosuke’s face.

V

“Here?”

“Shh.”

The two pressed themselves against the wall like geckos.
Mukōjima—though to be precise, behind Suwa Shrine, among Terajima’s farmhouses—was where Oaki had guided them to a single dormitory-style building.

“Tateoka Kai is here. Yamanobe is at Shirahige—”

“Alright.”

“Where shall we enter from?”

“I can get in anywhere—but you’re in danger. Go back.”

Yogunosuke said this while eyeing the low fence that could be scaled effortlessly and glancing back at Oaki.

“No, I wish to witness your gallant deeds, Lord Yogunosuke.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Don’t worry—I won’t go near any dangerous spots.”

“——”

Yogunosuke did not argue any further.
Though they had only just met today, he felt he understood this woman’s peculiar inclinations all too well.

The wall stood about six feet high; after vaulting over it with hands planted firmly on top, he opened the tightly shut gate,

“Get in.”

He ushered Oaki inside.

Fortunately, the moon remained hidden, the mist-laden chill of darkness making this an ideal night for stealth.

“Lord Yogunosuke.”

“Shout loudly to draw out those inside. When they emerge，hide among the trees—I’ll slip into the house then.”

“——”

Oaki silently nodded.
For a woman, this was an unexpectedly significant role, but Oaki likely intended to accomplish it flawlessly; without any hesitation, she accepted and moved slightly away from Yogunosuke’s side,

“Fire! Fire! Fire, fire!”

Shouting loud enough to avoid inciting a riot, she swiftly hid herself in the deep grove.
The house suddenly erupted into commotion,

“Where? Where is it?!”

Two or three shutters flew open, and people came scattering out.

Seizing that opening, Yogunosuke slipped into the house—

For a while, the pointless commotion continued, but once they realized there was no fire anywhere, the numerous hired hands who had gotten up began muttering complaints as they returned to their warm beds.

For a while, no sound could be heard.

However, barely half an hour had passed when—

“Intruder!”

“Everyone get up! An intruder’s broken in!”

The house suddenly erupted into commotion again.

This time, it became utter chaos—as if someone had thrust a pole into a hornet’s nest—with screams, curses, and the crash of falling objects all blending together until the wooden shutters burst open and a crowd came tumbling out.

The one brandishing a sword in the center must have been Yogunosuke.
Relying on the dim light of a hand lantern, they charged in slashing from all directions, but none could breach Yogunosuke's ferocious resolve—at least for a time.

“Ah! There’s a woman too!”

“Don’t let her escape!”

Oaki, who had been hiding in the grove, inadvertently emerged into the garden and was spotted by the mob.

“Ah!”

She tried to flee but was too slow—a man lunged forward and grabbed her by the collar from behind.

“You!”

Spotting this, Yogunosuke trampled two or three men as he charged in and sliced through her captor with a diagonal slash.

“Gah!”

The first blood spilled.

“Come!”

He flicked blood from his blade, blue eyes blazing—a warlike fervor ignited through his entire being.

“Lord Yogunosuke.”

“Oaki, Tateoka isn’t here. Let’s withdraw.”

The two had somehow escaped the perilous situation and were now racing along Mukōjima’s embankment.

VI

Yogunosuke simply returned to Oaki's house.
It wasn't that he felt any attachment to Oaki, but with bloodstained hands unwashed, he couldn't bring himself to return to Kanoko's pure ronin residence in Banba-cho—where she would be praying softly, softly with the night.

After taking a brief rest and rising, the sun was already high, casting its light into the narrow courtyard.

He washed his face and then it was already sake.

"Lord Yogunosuke, aren't you pleased?"

Taking the sake flask, Oaki's eyes brimmed with calculated allure.

“What?”
Yogunosuke’s response came more brusque than expected.

“You stayed here after all, didn’t you?”

“――――”

“――――”

“I won’t let you go back now—no matter what.”

While Oaki spoke these words—perhaps unconsciously masking her own lingering dissatisfaction—Yogunosuke sat silent, absorbed in thought.

“Oaki. Where does Yamanobe Uemon no Tayu reside?”

“Near Shirahige Bridge—I know it well. When the moment comes, I’ll guide you there myself.”

“Tonight?”

“It’s barely been a day since last night.”

The reason Oaki hesitated instead was that, having learned from the previous night’s assault, she suspected the Yamanobe residence might have fortified itself with exceptional vigilance.

“Then I’ll bide my time a little longer.”

From that moment, it became sake—sake—sake.

Three days slipped by in this desolate state of mind.
Oaki occasionally ventured out due to her profession, though never beyond dusk, and would return dutifully to attend to him. Thus Yogunosuke scarcely grew bored, steeped in liquor, allure, and the scent of cosmetics—too preoccupied for idle thoughts of Kanoko to surface.

It wasn’t that he didn’t remember—to put it precisely, he had likely tried as much as possible not to recall. In any case, Yogunosuke’s heart thus continued to wither day by day, like a desert craving a rain of blood.

However, for Yogunosuke, Oaki remained none other than his foster sibling.
Oaki’s bewitching charm truly radiated without reserve, but Yogunosuke spent three days immersed in that beguiling aura without ever once relaxing his posture.

“Lord Yogunosuke, I’ve had someone look into Yamanobe’s residence.”

One day, Oaki began to say something strange.

“Hoh, what’s the situation?”

“They had it heavily fortified for a time, but lately the security has completely slackened, and they say there aren’t even decent servants anymore.”

“That’s fortunate. Shall we finally commence tonight?”

“Lord Yogunosuke.”

“What?”
“Even if there’s no security guard detail, isn’t this still an exceedingly dangerous undertaking?”
“That might be.”
“One misstep could cost us our lives.”
“Life and death have always been heaven’s domain.”
“Lord Yogunosuke.”

“What?”
“What shall I do if we part ways here and now?”

Before he realized it, Oaki had leaned her upper body against Yogunosuke’s lap. Like a plucked flower, when her limp weight pressed against him, an indescribable fragrance began tormenting the man’s senses.

“What nonsense.”

Yogunosuke slipped his hands beneath her sides and gently lifted her up, making a slightly withdrawn, bitter face.

“Even when I’m this devoted to you, Lord Yogunosuke—how utterly heartless you are.”

“Wait. You misunderstand, Oaki. There’s Kanoko—though unwed, she’s my sworn betrothed.”

“……”

“I understand your feelings well enough, but I cannot layer more sins upon myself.”

“Then why don’t you return to Banba-cho?”

“I fear Kanoko. That woman... she’s too sacred. Day and night, she’s lost in prayer.”

“Then Lady Kanoko—could she still cling to the Kirishitan faith of old—”

“Stop this nonsense.”

“Back then, even though Christianity was banned, the restrictions weren’t strictly enforced. When we lived in Yamagata, I used to play at praying with Lady Kanoko too. But now that they’ve become so strict about it, one can’t even carelessly mimic such things.”

“Enough of this talk. More importantly—isn’t it strange that none of Tateoka’s men have come here since then?”

“Hoh hoh.”

“What are you laughing at?”

“Didn’t you realize all that was my doing?”

“What?”

“Out of sheer spite for Lord Yogunosuke rushing back to Banba-cho, I had some local ruffians under my thumb and orchestrated that entire charade.”

“――――”

As these words struck him, every piece fell into place—Yogunosuke's gaping mouth refused to close itself now.

VII.

That night, the assault at Shirahige Bridge became riddled with blunders from Yogunosuke's perspective.

What impulse drove him—despite Oaki, who so relished bloodshed, staying behind—Yogunosuke ventured out alone? Though being unencumbered should have proven advantageous, by the time he registered their meticulous security measures, he had already plunged into an artfully crafted trap, thrashing without hope of escape.

The report of "no guards" served as bait to lure him in. When he vaulted through the carelessly shut gate, a dozen skilled combatants materialized from the shadowed earth like specters, encircling him completely.

“The decoy’s taken the bait! Don’t let him escape!”

Surrounding him from all directions, they charged in to cut him to ribbons,

“You bastards!”

Yogunosuke too hungered for blood.
Swinging his blade, he cut down one nearby assailant, wounded two others, and leapt swiftly onto the veranda.
There, he suspected his master Yamanobe Uemon no Tayu was directing operations from the shadows.

However, traps had been prepared everywhere.
In the shadows of sliding doors, the darkness beneath the veranda—in every conceivable hiding place, they had stationed men so thoroughly that one could say...

“Don’t let him escape!”

Ten became twenty, twenty became thirty—until finally they brought out projectile weapons, barbed spears, even professional capture tools, surrounding Yogunosuke alone as if dealing with a wounded boar.

Yogunosuke continued slashing relentlessly.
The arm once hailed as Yamagata Domain’s greatest swordsmanship now honed to lethal precision by abnormal excitement—he cut down all who dared touch him until even his own body became drenched from head to toe in dark crimson like one bathed in suō dye.

Fortunately he had sustained no serious wounds, but with the enemy so thoroughly prepared, prolonging this fight alone was certain to end in defeat.

The Yamanobe Uemon no Tayu he sought still refused to show himself.

"You spineless curs—come at me together!"

After delivering two, three ferocious assaults then abruptly withdrawing—through desperate effort to carve a bloody path—Yogunosuke found himself driven back to the original garden—

“Don’t let him escape!”

The pursuers surged forward like an incoming tide.

“Agh!”

Yogunosuke’s foot caught on the taut rope, sending him tumbling headlong into the darkness.

“Got him!”

Two or three pursuers struck down mid-chase—those who had swung their blades in prayer-like strikes—collapsed forward like a folding screen. Crawling on the ground, Yogunosuke, even as he fell, swung his blade sideways and scythed through the shins of two or three men in a single sweep.

“Gah!”

Hearing the terrible screams behind him, Yogunosuke clambered atop the wall.

Outside too swarmed a full contingent of men—when had they managed to deploy them? This was truly watertight security.

How and where he had managed to flee after that—Yogunosuke, picking his way through the embankment's darkness, emerged from Sekiya toward the Ayase River.

While the Yamanobe family's retainers and servants were limited in number, upon realizing that over half his pursuers were professional constables dispatched by the Town Magistrate, even Yogunosuke could no longer keep his composure.

Mokubo Temple and Horikiri Road had been blocked, leaving Yogunosuke with no escape route except to leap into the river.

However, the bitter cold of a night past December 20th was no season to seek escape through water—and to compound matters, Matsune Yogunosuke, raised in Yamagata Castle though proficient in all manner of martial arts, was truly inept at swimming.

He found a small shed and tried to slip inside, but the maliciously secure lobster-shaped padlock thwarted him—and in these circumstances, forcing entry into a single-door shed would only invite greater danger.
Yogunosuke circled around to the back of the shed and clambered up the ancient cherry tree overlooking the water’s surface like a monkey.

The constables brandished pine torches and lanterns as they charged from all directions, but they never imagined their opponent had clawed his way up to the cherry tree's highest branches. Moreover, with the shed's roof blocking their view, Yogunosuke's figure had become completely invisible from the road.

Several hours passed.

As hints of dawn began to glimmer, the constables and pursuers finally gave up and withdrew toward Shirahige.
Along Horikiri, on the unobstructed bank of the Ayase River—they had never imagined a single person could be hiding there.
“――――”

Perched on the branch, Yogunosuke stretched his hardened limbs with a sense of relief.

When he absently looked down, his own figure atop the branch—illuminated by the first morning sun—was reflected in the water below without any concealment.

“――――”

What a gruesome sight that was. His entire body dyed crimson, his robe and trousers torn to shreds, his wildly disheveled hair half-concealing a face streaked with dark blood. A face with the indigo-blue pallor of dye vats, eyes glinting like abalone shells, a figure clinging desperately to the cherry branch as it peered downward—this terrifying visage was one Matsune Yogunosuke could not possibly accept as his own reflection. Yogunosuke shuddered and twisted around. He recalled the peep show box depicting a blood-soaked massacre he had seen as a child in Yamagata. The painting of a lone samurai, drenched in blood and cutting down living people one after another, must have terrified young Yogunosuke so profoundly. Despite the pride of being a samurai’s child, young Yogunosuke now recalled how he had been tormented by that horrifying vision for days and months on end, trembling in secret.

Yogunosuke slid down from the cherry tree’s upper branches as if gliding, then slipped into an abandoned boat fortunately moored at the bank. Before morning traffic began, he washed off the bloodstains and composed himself.

He remained hidden in the boat until sunset and returned to Banba-cho at night. Yogunosuke purified the bloodstains and attempted once more to stand before Kanoko’s pure prayers.

But Kanoko’s figure was nowhere to be seen at the ronin residence.

The neighbors quietly,

“Lady Kanoko was bound and taken away under suspicion of having converted to the Christian faith.”
This is what they told him.

“What?!”

Peering into the desolate cold of his own house, how utterly astonished Matsune Yogunosuke must have been.

“Tomorrow at Fuda no Tsuji, she’ll be crucified on pillars alongside Father Geronimo, Father Garbesu Francesko, Lord John Hara Mondo, and Lord Simon Endo—then burned at the stake, they say.”

The neighbor spoke these words and quietly traced a cross in the gathering dusk.
This person too must have been one whose heart inclined toward the Christian faith.

Yogunosuke entered the pitch-dark house and staggered about as if searching for the faint traces of Kanoko’s lingering scent, but finally sat down heavily on the tatami,

“Kanoko... forgive me... Kanoko.”

While tears streamed down his face, he lowered his head without purpose.

How utterly despicable it all must have seemed—remaining unaware that his fiancée had been taken as a martyr, idly dwelling at the town geisha’s house while shedding needless blood.
When he thought about it, not a single incident remained for the Mogami Clan that warranted conflict.

VIII

At dawn on December 24, Genna Era Year 9 (1623) (December 4 according to the Bloodstained Testament; October 13 per Tokugawa Jikki), John Hara Mondo and fifty Kirishitan followers were divided into three groups, paraded through Edo, and arrived at the Tōkaidō Shinagawa execution grounds.

The execution grounds were encircled by a bamboo fence, within which fifty crucifixion pillars stood in rows. About three feet before each pillar, firewood had been piled mountain-high while overseeing officials waited on camp stools for the appointed hour.

Men and women spectators pressed forward outside the bamboo fence in uncountable thousands—it was reported even daimyo great and small from across the provinces mingled among them, having come to Edo for celebrations honoring Shogun Iemitsu’s official inauguration.

With crucifixion pillars behind him, John Hara Mondo remained mounted on a sturdy bare-backed horse and proclaimed in a resounding voice: “Though my fingers were severed and legs atrophied through long imprisonment and torture, now that I have found the path to salvation, not a shred of sorrow remains! Overflowing with joy to ascend to Heaven, this moment—dying for Christ—is my victory! My bliss—!”

Next, the renowned eloquence of Simon Endo’s oration completely enraptured the spectators, with at least three hundred people surging forward shouting “I’m a believer too!” “Me too!” “Execute us together!”—even the seasoned guards paled and struggled to contain them.

If the number of heretics were to increase any further, even the extent of the new Shogun Iemitsu’s wrath would prove terrifying.

Without delay, the fifty crucifixion pillars were set ablaze one after another.
As the firewood piled mountain-high blazed fiercely, voices offering prayers to the Lord of Heaven and Santa Maria hymns pierced through the scorching winds, resounding as if to reach the heavens themselves.

At that moment,

“Please wait! There’s been a mistake—one person here doesn’t belong! Save her!”

How she had sneaked in—this beauty who vaulted over the bamboo fence—clinging to the last unlit pillar among fifty crucifixion stakes, she shook her disheveled hair and pleaded desperately.

“What are you doing? Back off!”

The officials who came rushing tried to pry her from the pillar, but she clung like a serpent—even grown men’s strength proved useless against her.

“Please save this person! Though I accused her and had her raised on the crucifixion pillar, if you burn her like this, the Lord of Heaven’s punishment will be terrible.”

The speaker was Oaki, the town geisha of Asakusa. Needless to say, the one atop the crucifixion pillar—eyes quietly closed while awaiting her fate—was Kanoko, Yogunosuke’s fiancée.

“What nonsense.”
“Step back now! The hour grows late!”

Two or three samurai tried dragging Oaki away by her limbs, but she clung like a serpent—prying at her repeatedly proved futile.
Her raw fingernails had torn away completely, blood streaming from hands to arms,

“No, no! I am the Kirishitan—look at the cross around my neck! Execute me instead of this person! You must not kill her!”

“What?! We’ll put both of you on the crucifixion pillars then!”

“I’ll take her place! I’m the Kirishitan! Please, I beg you—I’m the one who accused her, I’m telling you!”

Oaki was desperate.
Even the combined strength of two or three grown men could not subdue a single desperate woman.

“Now now, the magistrate’s orders state that there can be no falsehood in what this woman who filed the accusation declares herself. If she is indeed a true Kirishitan, there should be no issue in exchanging the prisoners.”

Two constables came rushing forth upon receiving Magistrate Yonezu Kanbee’s orders.

Having resigned herself to her desperate fate and been praying in a dreamlike state upon the crucifixion pillar, Kanoko opened her eyes for the first time at this moment.
She finally realized that the commotion—which had seemed like something happening in a distant land—pertained to her own circumstances.

“Ah, Oaki!”

“My lady, I was wrong—it was my evil scheme to monopolize Lord Yogunosuke that made me file the accusation and have you bound. Today I meant to spectate the execution from outside the bamboo fence as an outsider—wretched me who watched with demonic eyes.”
“After hearing Lord Simon Endo’s words and witnessing the resolute figures of fifty members of our faith, my deluded dream has completely vanished.”
“Ten years ago, I too—when Father Geronimo made his revered missionary tour through the northern provinces—received the teachings and converted.”
“My lady must have sacred work to accomplish by surviving—I shall atone for my grave sins by burning alongside our fellow believers. Santa Maria—”

Oaki, without even attempting to wipe her falling tears, looked up at Kanoko atop the crucifixion pillar and pleaded desperately.

“Oaki, Oaki, that’s not true!”

“No, no! I am the Kirishitan without doubt!”
“Honorable officials, please listen.”
“It was out of base spite that I accused this young lady.”
“How could there be any error in what I myself declare? The Honorable magistrates who received my accusation must surely be present here.”

“Oaki, I bear no resentment at all. Please be called peacefully—”

“No, no, my lady! That cannot be allowed!”

The blazing flames gradually drew closer, and the voices of prayer resounded throughout the execution grounds.

Nine

By the time Matsune Yogunosuke arrived, everything had already been concluded.

Upon the fifty crucifixion pillars remained the charred corpses of martyrs, while many laborers were still dousing the blazing flames.

Overwhelmed by the gruesome sight, the spectators had gradually dispersed midway through, and by now only the grief-stricken figures of the martyrs’ relatives remained outside the bamboo fence.

“I humbly request—I too am a Kirishitan believer. I wish to receive honorable execution.”

Yogunosuke, as though drawn by the fifty charred corpses, abruptly leaped into the bamboo enclosure.

“Hey! You must not enter here! What—because you’re a Kirishitan believer, you want to be executed?”

“Exactly.”

Before a splendid samurai who appeared to be a yoriki, Yogunosuke bowed slightly.

“Now now, you appear to be a samurai, but don’t get carried away.”

“What are you saying?”

“Three hundred people already wished to be executed for being Kirishitan. Dreadful to say, were His Excellency to hear of so many heretics in his very capital, he would be furious indeed.”

“――――”

“When one sees fire, anyone tends to get carried away. Go home.”
“Your sword matters not.”

“Your words, but—”

Yogunosuke took a step forward.
And then, a woman leaped out from nowhere,

“Lord Yogunosuke.”
As if leaping into his chest, she looked up at his face.

“Oh, Kanoko! You’re unharmed?”

“Lord Yogunosuke, Oaki died in my place. I too begged for execution, but they would not permit it. All things are according to divine will.”

“Kanoko.”

The two embraced each other amidst the throng, heedless of the watching eyes around them.

Behind them lingered dying flames, while above these towered the corpses of fifty martyrs—

Live, live on and devote yourself to the teachings—

It seemed they were saying—

Before long, the Shimabara Rebellion erupted; Japan's Kirishitan were uprooted, their branches and leaves withered away. Yet even so, through Edo's three hundred years of unparalleled persecution, a single thread of doctrine was passed down.

The couple who spent forty years on pilgrimage from Kyushu to Matsumae carrying a Cross Kannon statue on their backs—Yogo and Oshika—were both the wellspring and protectors of Edo Kirishitan.