Submission 5

Sakoku

The tight corridors of Nagasaki were clogged with thick smoke, as vendors dealt and threatened by each wooden house. Four heavily armoured men weaved their ways through the babbling crowds of the main street, gently pushing others away as they made for their destination. Each man had a hand loosely held on either rapier or pistol, the leading one looking forward anxiously, while his comrades each had a curious, threatening look to them. At the back of this small group was a young man who held a folder of worn papers, and himself seemingly a heavy footfall. As the busy street opened up into a packed market square, mainly occupied by large stalls and flanked by mysterious, wooden shops. The four men kept moving through the crowd, obviously moving to a specific place. The young man watched as they walked by a haggling group of English traders, who were attempting to fool a local merchant into buying their wool. The next shop had a single man who was talking privately with a rich local, both seeming to neither haggle with price nor talking trade. One of the older guards scoffed at a combined gaggle of Portuguese and Spanish sailors, at least twenty who were furiously arguing. One of the Spaniards was angrily pointing at a cart full of deep red spices, while his Portuguese friend threw a disdainful hand at him.
"Keep those Spanish pigs away from us." growled the man on the left, in a thick Amsterdam accent, sneering at the Iberians. The other Dutch guard rattled his rapier at a nearby Spaniard soldier, who himself spat at the group. The young man at the back averted eye contact, looking down as the two groups passed.
"Now, boys, we're here for the trading." reminded the older man at the front, glancing at what seemed to be the Spanish leader.
"Aye, Captain." murmured the man on the left, his angry sneer still present. He looked around at the young man.
"Remember, though, Pieter, those bastards will always be enemies."
"Lieutenant! If the locals hear your bloodlust they'll throw us all out!" snapped the Captain anxiously as they approached what seemed to be the end of this market square. Pieter at the back lowered his head cautiously as the tip of large cross appeared over the market stalls. A subdued atmosphere was suddenly rife as pools of blood spread out over the ground. A gruesome greeted the four Dutch traders as a row of crosses were arrayed in the final opening. Hanging at the head of each cross were naked men, each nailed as if Jesus himself. The blood slowly crawled down to the base of the cross as Japanese guards stood around, chatting cheerily. Each of the Dutchmen made the sign of the cross and muttered their prayers.
"What in God's name?" whispered the Lieutenant, eyes slowly cast upon each of the twenty six crucified, mouth open aghast.
"My point proven, Lieutenant. This is the result of...blood lusting." warned the Captain quietly, hands anxiously turning over a bag of gold. Pieter had stopped in his tracks, horrified by the pool of blood creeping towards him, some monster of sins beckoning. Each of this faithful men had looks of screaming pain etched to their dead faces.
"Pieter! We have little time to spare." beckoned the Captain, and the young man sprinted to catch up with the hurrying party, as they disappeared into the labyrinth of homes. Finally the Captain stopped at the wide entrance to a shop. Within sat a portly looking Japanese merchant, surrounding by parchment. He looked up as the shadow threw itself over his busy table.
"Ah! Captain Dirk... It is a true pleasure to... Make your acquaintance." greeted the merchant with a wide smile, standing to shake hands with the armoured Captain. He gruffly pushed forward a sweaty hand, gold jingling in other hand.
"Your Dutch is very good, sir." complimented the Captain, despite the merchant's halting attempts. They both retreated into a back room at the beckoning of the merchant. As the two discussed trade in the shadow of the back room, the three other turned into the shadowy alley to welcome another ten of the crew. Each crew member was armed to the teeth with arquebus, carbines and pistols. Others had thick helmets while some wore heavy, black armour.

Pieter withdrew to the back of the babbling group where he shuffled through sea-worn papers. After some minutes both the merchant and Captain emerged. The Captain wore a greedy grin.
"We'll be heading back to the ship where the good Lord will inspect the stores. Make ready, guard!" The Lieutenant yelled out the orders and the thirteen soldiers organized themselves into a makeshift column. At order they started a solemn march back into the bloody square. The merchant and Captain discussed the silver they were trading passionately as they turned past the twenty six crosses and further into town. As the Captain ignored his guard and the Lieutenant marched on, a soldier suddenly broke rank. Heavy armour jangling loudly he stabbed a finger at the watching crowd.
"The bastard!" he roared, as a disturbed sailor's head snapped up from his dealings, hand shifting to belt, "The damn fool is a traitor!" accused the soldier confidently. The stalls were dead silent, except for the dripping of blood from each cross. The lone sailor had been talking with a brown robed man, who Pieter recognised as a Jesuit missionary. He babbled some words in Spanish feebly at the same moment the Lieutenant drew a glinting rapier, aiming it at the traitor.
"You speak with the Spanish? You have betrayed the Republic, and speak with its enemies?" he asked as if Judge and Jury, face twisted into a picture of disgust. Rather then answer honestly the man hurriedly reached into his blue coat and drew forth a large, brown carbine, and fired at the column of Dutch soldiers. The bang issued smoke over the three stalls in between, and the hundreds of people scattered as if leaves to the wind. As the screams echoed high above the markets the bullet whistled into the Dutch soldiers, glancing and bouncing off heavy armour before whistling past Pieter's cheek and finally lodging itself firmly into the local merchant's forehead. He keeled over with a final gasp, blood pouring from bloody hole. The Captain looked down in shock and fury as the murderer grimaced and ducked. The Lieutenant had quickly pulled forth a small pistol himself a unloaded a shot at the traitor. As the twelve guards dispersed into cover the lone shot once again caused innocent harm, as it cut straight through the Jesuit's chest. As he clutched at a gaping chest, Hell itself seemed to burst from its dikes.

The rapid exchange of duelling fire had left a thick smog between the two groups. As blood crawled into the middle the now empty market centre was full of shouts as the other Dutch guards fired shots over the top of wooden stalls at the traitor.
"Pieter!" The Captain grabbed a loose bit of Pieter's shirt and pointed at the dead merchant, "We need to get him out of here!" he yelled over the roar of pistol fire and roaring shouts of the soldiers. Pieter and the Captain grabbed an arm each of the Japanese merchant and pulled him towards a nearby shop. as the blood trailed behind, the Captain kicked down the door to the shouts of protesting locals. He dropped the dead body and pointed a golden pistol at the old local yelling at him.
"Shut your damn mouth." The click of hammer convinced the man to quieten, but this left an empty silence hanging, from which the Captain ran to the door, swearing softly. He watched as his own men moved closer to their traitor, yelling insults at the man as he seemed to wait and pray. The Captain gasped as he heard yelling from the bayside. As he rushed into the battle, Pieter watched a huge group of Portuguese and Spanish sailors move in from the south, from the docks. They were a rabble, a disorganized group who had watched the local merchants rush by shouting out warning of barbarians fighting.

"Komo!" they had shouted, and now the Spaniards sprinted towards the roaring battle. The Captain raised a pistol and fired at shot, stopping a man dead with a shock as the others began to fire thick arquebus. The affair soon devolved into a heated engagement where the Dutch soldiers began to retreat towards the plaza, futilely firing at the thirty Spanish soldiers towards the south, who approached the opposing group with fierce, religious fervour. Pieter hid in the shadows of the door as his comrades were pushed back slowly. As he gripped the butt of a hidden pistol, he watched silently as Spanish sailors ducked past his cover. The bullets whistled past intensely, creating an orchestra of destruction as cloth and wood was ripped apart by stray bullets. Each man ducked and weaved through the rows of stalls, routinely appearing to fire a carbine at the enemy only to duck. Several appeared only to be thrown backwards with the intensity of the bullet's force. As the mob pushed past his position, Pieter emerged bravely from his cover. As he slid past the dead merchant, and slipped on the blood stained cobblestone, he turned behind. He spotted the Captain now duelling with a Spanish sailor, silver rapier against thick cutlass, and the looked to the south where the tips of swaying masts begged from the bay. Hopeless desperation swelling up within his heart, a nearly vomiting Pieter summoned his courage and sprinted desperately towards the bay. As fast as his twenty year old legs could take him, he sprinted past the battered remains of a thriving market as the locals peered from behind partly closed blinds, the thick smog of gunpowder hanging in his nose. As he threw away the image of a collapsing merchant, the loss and hopelessness of battle in his stomach, he never heard the stamping march of reinforcements before him. It was too late when the horde of Japanese reinforcements appeared around the corner, each with bowl hat, long pike and angry expression wielded. What chance did a twenty year old stand, born in the slums of Eindhoven, when a furious veteran of the Sengoku Jidai saw the very catalyst of his country's demise before him? The foreigner, the komo, offered himself like a sacrifice, like each saint crucified behind him. Neither had been shown no better - neither had been drawn from their sakoku.

The quick jab of spear to the stomach sliced open his stomach. The Japanese soldier quite simply judged by what he saw. Like so many foolish people before him, like the poor souls lying dead on the bloody grounds of Nagasaki, Pieter had been judged and tried in a single instance. He was dead by the second stab.