“I fear I already have,” she confided in a hushed tone.
“I know, I saw. Well done, wife, well done.” He gently took the crimson stained wakizashi from her tremblng fingers and slid it into his sash next to his battle scarred katana before he took her in his arms again.
Dawn found them headed south in a fleet comprised of all manner of vessels, now approaching the mouth of the Menam where it met the Gulf of Siam. There were two Dutch and three Portuguese merchant ships, a Chinese junk and a variety of smaller seaworthy vessels that were owned variously by Japanese and their former foreign neighbors. They all followed the massive and well-armed red seal ship, with its cargo of goods brought from Japan still onboard and unmolested, bound for Yamada, Nagamasa’s new kingdom in Ligor on the east side of the long peninsula that eventually became the lands of the Malay. All in all, some six hundred of the thousand or so who had inhabited Nihonmachi were making their escape to the holdings of their former leader. The rest had either been killed by Prasat Thong’s forces or were in hiding among the Portuguese or other folk who might be sympathetic to them. Yoriaki prayed for their safety and was grateful that so many had escaped what could have been a horrendous massacre. Along the way they sighted several Siamese warships but were given a wide berth. It seemed that not all of the kingdom’s military cared to persecute their former neighbors and allies.
After a few days sailing on fair seas, they reached Ligor and were welcomed by the people there, albeit a bit coolly. Yoriaki, his wife and in-laws were given a simple mud brick cottage to stay in and were brought food and a change of clothing. For the next two days meetings went on between their host Nagamasa and the higher ranking citizens that had escaped Nihonmachi, such as Ishida. Yoriaki, being a retired samurai who had chosen the life of a Christian commoner, was not invited, nor did he care; he was simply grateful to be alive with his loved ones.
Meanwhile, the two Dutch and three Portuguese merchant ships who had come to their rescue waited around in port to see what the fate of the Nihonmachi refugees might be. Yoriaki visited Blom daily and learned the Dutch ships belonged to Blom’s uncles, men who were very sympathetic to the Japanese with whom they had a long and profitable relationship. The Portuguese ships were temporarily under the will of the holy fathers, their captains hard pressed to leave so many Christians to an uncertain fate and so they waited alongside the Dutch to see if further transport was needed.
Yoriaki and Blom both shook their heads in sad wonder at the violence Prasat Thong had ordered against them, a foolish move surely driven by fear for his ill-gotten power, since it would not be at all profitable for a new Siamese king to ruin his relationships with both Ligor and Japan. Eventually the Shogunate would learn of Nihonmachi’s fate and would likely be immensely displeased at such treachery against other Japanese, even those who had chosen a life so far away from their island nation. Another day later, a stone-faced Ishida called a secret meeting of Nihonmachi’s surviving men and the sympathetic Dutch and Portuguese who had brought them here.
“Yamada Nagamasa has heard our tale. We implored him to lead his army along with our surviving warriors against Prasat Thong, but he will not. He has a consort now, a woman given to him by the ursurper king and she whispers poison in his ear. He is not the man he once was; he has grown weak and complacent. He had many chances to kill Prasat Thong as that devil murdered the boy kings, but he didn’t act. Now he has no will to face him, preferring to sit here in his little kingdom and do nothing. He won’t be swayed. Worse yet, I don’t think we are safe here. No matter what we say, he will listen only to his serpent bride. It is with a heavy heart I tell you that Yamada Nagamasa can no longer be trusted.”
“What should we do? Where should we go?” the men cried. “You samurai and merchants might have a chance, but we can’t possibly return to Japan. They will surely kill us if we do,” one of the older Christian men said plaintively.
At this point Father Nixi, a Japanese Jesuit well loved by the Japanese Christians and one of the few of their community to enter the priesthood, stood up to address those gathered.
“My friends and brothers in Christ, I know of a place where we may go. I can lead us there. There are many Portuguese and a few Japanese Catholics living in the Khmer Empire just across the gulf to the east. I am sure they would welcome you, especially since you may now be considered enemies of Prasat Thong who is their most hated foe. I correspond regularly with my brother Jesuits there and though it lacks the riches of Ayutthaya, you could live safely.”
“What of those who are not Christians?” Ishida turned to the Jesuit and asked in a respectful tone. “Have you some place we can go? I left Japan never to return, a masterless samurai who made a life for himself here in this part of the world. There are some hundred more like me here, and their families. Have you a place where we may live in peace?”
The Japanese Jesuit nodded. “You are brave men, sir, and when war came to Nihonmachi you fought side by side with the Christian men. We owe you our lives. The Khmer worship the gods of India just as the Siamese do; I see no reason why you Buddhists would not be welcome there. Please, let us all go together. You have survived a terrible ordeal, we can all sail from these accursed lands to find peace among the Khmer.” The priest sat down then, giving them time to consider his offer. The room was full of quiet discussion for a time.
After a while Ishida again rose to face the crowd. “I and those samurai who follow me have decided to go with Father Nixi to Khmer. Any who join my men and I, of any religion, will have our swords to protect them, this I swear. Who will sail with us?’
It was nearly unanimous; most of the Nihonmachi refugees would travel to Khmer. Ishida turned to the Dutch and Portuguese captains.
“Fine sirs, can we prevail upon your good graces once more? It seems we need to cross the Gulf of Siam and have no vessels capable of such a journey of our own. We humbly beg your assistance and will repay you as best we can.”
The captains conferred for a few minutes, the holy fathers browbeating the Portuguese captains while Blom was cajoling two older gentlemen who must surely be his ship-owning uncles to “do the right thing.” At last the captains turned to the crowd and agreed to transport them all to Khmer. Their kindness was met with a chorus of joyful cheers and blessings. It was decided they would sail at dawn, better not to give their unpredictable hosts much warning in case they should choose to try to stop them.
The next morning Yoriaki and Blom once more stood at the rail of the Groenevisch, which was Dutch for “green fish” and had something to do with a lucky catch one of the uncles had made in his youth. Yoriaki grinned merrily as they left the feckless Nagamasa and Ligor behind, bound for the eastern side of the gulf.
“What will you do now, Blom-san?” Yoriaki sometimes added the Japanese honorific to his friend’s name even though he spoke in Dutch. “Will you go back to Ayutthaya?”
“Well, I could, but we may not be too popular there for a while. Still, that greedy little king likes Dutch money, so I have a feeling he will forgive and forget. But it doesn’t matter to me. I’ve decided to travel with my uncles and learn their business. Now that I’m at sea again, I find I’ve missed it. Being a dockmaster was safe and had good pay but it was a bit boring, and after all, I’m still fairly young. I have a few more adventures left in me. Besides, I’ll have to come check on you and that little peach of yours once in a while to make sure you are getting along in your new home.”