Pirates of the Dragon Islands
Retelling Magellan’s Southeast Asia
500 years ago, before the Golden Age of Piracy made popular today by Robert Louis Stevenson’s “Treasure Island,” pirates plagued Asia’s Pacific coasts from Korea in the northeast to Vietnam in the southeast (and beyond). Politics and economics were persistently influenced by pirate raiders, traders, and warlords. The Philippine archipelago served as an increasingly popular refuge for Japanese and Chinese WAKŌ pirates as the Ming Dynasty began to fortify its coastal islands in the 1500s. The following is a fictional story informed by real historical data originating in various languages.
Mizuno heard footsteps overhead moving across the deck. She finished fastening her hair into a tight topknot and climbed the steps out of the stuffy hold, already baking in the morning heat. As she emerged onto the deck of the kenminsen ship in the port of Manila, she watched her traveling companions disembark across gangplanks to a dock built of bamboo. They bunched up into rowdy bands. Some wore their swords slung over their backs while others wore them at their hips, like more respectable swordsmen. Some were carrying armfuls of trinkets to sell or gamble away. A few already had open jars of rice wine and were likely looking to buy more. Either more sake or more coconut wine like the people of Luzon often sold.
On shore were crowds of people swarming about among awnings and houses made of bamboo with rooftops of long dry leaves. Looming behind the houses and crowds was a wall of thick logs about an arrow-flight away from the water. Men with spears peered out from atop it like restless birds. Most of them wore red cloths wrapped around the tops of their heads.
Some wood clattered near Azumi. She looked over to see Danzō-sama opening a few crates outside the Senchō’s cabin. Azumi continued to be cautious around this man since the captain took her in at her mother’s request in Okinawa. But though Danzō was without doubt the most fearsome swordsman on the ship, he also displayed the best sense of propriety. He made for better conversation than the men under his command.
With his back towards her, Danzō was busy pulling swords out one-by-one and arranging them into piles. As usual, he wore pants that reached halfway down his calves. His black hair hung loose on his shoulders. Tucked through his silk belt were his katana and wakizashi in matching scabbards painted a shiny black. They had matching hilts of gold worked into the triple-swirl shape called mitsudomoe. His feet were bare, and so was his back. Where his skin was exposed it was either browned by the sun, or colored like the sea in deep blue and green tattoos. The most noticeable design — the only one that Mizuno could really make out from a distance — was a fish weaving up his spine towards a spirit gate built on two solid posts running along his shoulder blades.
As he turned his head over the crates and the piles of swords, Danzō seemed to notice Mizuno standing awkwardly alone on deck. Catching his eye, she shuffled sheepishly in his direction and gave him a polite nod, “Ohayō gozaimasu, Danzō-sama.”
“You should be with the others,” he called to her dryly.
Azumi wondered if he was teasing her, or if he meant it genuinely. In the few weeks she had been among them, she felt had contributed nothing to the crew.
Apparently reading the thought on her face, he added, “It doesn’t matter how they’ve been treating you here; they won’t forget you’re one of us when you’re out there.” He nodded towards the ship below their feet, and then towards the bamboo city around them.
She tried to read his face too. Then she shrugged, saying, “I don’t know what’s there for me to see on-shore…”
Danzō raised his eyebrows. “That’s the point!” he said raising his open hands, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
She said nothing. Then he looked towards the shoreline crowded with countless people in countless different tasks and conversations. “Do you see those two, Azumi-chan?” He pointed to a couple wearing fiery colors in robes of silk. The woman was in the shade of a paper parasol leaning lightly on her shoulder. The man had a fancy black hat in a funny shape; it stood out easily from the simple cone hats of woven bamboo elsewhere in the crowd. “Ever seen anyone like them before?” Danzō asked.
Azumi scoffed, “Are they Chinese? I’ve seen Chinese before…”
Scoffing himself, Danzō explained, “They’re not new to you because they got here before you …Everywhere we’ve stopped since leaving your island, they’ve already been there. So don’t you wonder how much they’ve seen? Don’t you want to see it yourself?”
Though a little distrusting of the man’s enthusiasm, Mizuno Azumi took in his words and let her eyes drift across the crowd, wondering what might be different here. She listened to the sounds around her. At first, they were the same sounds that any port would have: birds, waves, boats creaking and splashing, sails fluttering. And people yelling to each other. Across the crowds or across the water. From boat-to-boat or from boat-to-shore. Announcing what they were selling, greeting old friends, or picking drunken arguments. Even before midday. She couldn’t understand the words, but she knew those were things people were yelling about.
Danzō said to her, “You could learn their language.” She wondered what she could possibly want to talk about in their language. “You could live here and eat like them,” he continued. And she wondered what they would eat. She could see chickens and goats in rattan cages. In addition to the fish laid out across tables and rice mats. And fruits, and coconuts of different ages.
“Is this a good place to live?” She asked.
Danzō smiled lightly, in a way that Azumi found mysterious, at best. “Maybe!” he shrugged. “Go and find out for me. Just take a look…”
She let out a quiet sigh as she looked at the crowds again.
“Ah! But uh…” When Azumi had turned her head back, Danzō’s arms were extended towards her, offering a sheathed katana. “You know how to use one of these, right?” He asked.
Azumi felt a twinge of doubt and tried to search her memory.
Before she’d found any words, he said, “Well you’ve seen swordplay. Take it…” She obeyed and took it with both hands. “Stand like the ship is rocking… keep the sword between you and me — the whole sword.”
She pulled the sword out and dropped the scabbard on a crate. The blade tip fell as soon as it was unsheathed and she tried to adjust for the weight by twisting her wrist. Danzō caught the lower handle with his left hand before the point could bounce off the deck.
“Both hands,” he said. “Put your left hand down here,” and he tapped the bottom end of the handle with his empty hand. As soon as she moved her left hand to grip it, he pulled back, leaving the full weight of the sword in her hands. Now she easily pointed the blade upright, rotating the handle between her hands.
Stepping to her right side without taking his eyes off the blade, Danzō went on, “you already see how to cut; it’s not in your arms so much as your hands. You can move your hands first — together …and your arms will follow.”
Mizuno Azumi manipulated the blade in a few directions. Danzō guided her through a few basic angles of attack; he pointed out which angles would allow the easiest motions for her wrists. He also walked her through a few defensive stances and blocks. “The blade stays between you and the enemy,” he repeated.
After a few more minutes of impromptu lessons, a boy walked out of the cabin door nearby. He donned a conical hat and opened a parasol, then looked back towards the inside of the cabin.
“Oi, oi!” Danzō called to the boy, but Azumi focused on the sword in her hand: how the blade moved through the hot Spring air. And how the weight shifted in the grip of her two hands. She hardly heard the conversation but understood that Senchō, captain, was coming out soon.
A shadow startled her as Danzō placed the boy’s hat on her head. The boy was pouting but Danzō silenced him, “you’re sharing the captain’s parasol, you have shade!”
“You keep that on,” he ordered Azumi. “And now put those blades on and get out of here. You’ve distracted me from counting these swords and now Senchō-sama is already ready.” He handed her the scabbard, now with a wakizashi also tied to it. Azumi wore them like she’d seen some of the crew doing, slinging them over her shoulder with a rope belt.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mizuno Azumi, not truly anchored to anything or anyone, wandered into the city. She avoided going out of sight of the water and tried to seek out her fellow countrymen. She spotted many, not only the ones who came on the same kenminsen. Among the crowds she easily noticed men in familiar yukata and kimono. Even a few women in stylish and flowery kimono, walking behind men in dark hakama pants with their paired swords at their waists in silk belts.
She understood, from conversations on the ship and at previous ports, that many of these well-dressed swordsmen from Nippon were samurai without a master. Maybe their master died, or maybe their master sent them away in disgrace. And then these samurai roamed without purpose, having become men of the waves — rōnin.
Azumi’s attention was caught by the sight of a lively rooster tucked under a man’s arm. The bird’s body was a shining golden color, and it’s tail a glittering blue like the ocean. The man’s arm was wrapped in gold rings at the elbow and wrist. Covering his body was a shirt dyed in deep blue; he wore pants the same color from his waist to his knees. He was walking barefoot towards a gathering crowd, among which were other men carrying roosters. Some under an arm, others in front of themselves with both hands, and others in wicker cages.
She followed towards the crowd and tried to peek in from a distance. The men with roosters seemed to be gathering in the center and exchanging words in the local language. Many among the outer crowd were Azumi’s countrymen, several of whom she recognized as her crewmates.
“Ohayō gozaimasu, young man,” Azumi heard someone say. She turned and saw an old man sitting on a small beat-up boat resting upside-down on a pile of rotting wood and bamboo. His head was bald, and a thin gray beard hung from his chin. His kimono was colored blue and looked old and ragged; a plain linen belt wrapped around his waist. Tucked in it was a single blade, very short, and housed in an unfinished wooden scabbard. In one hand he held a short staff, a jō, made of rattan.
“Ohayō gozaimasu, grandfather.” She replied politely, preferring not to correct him in such an unfamiliar place. Her wide hat swooped down and up as she bowed.
“What’s your name, young man?”
“Danzō, oji-san” she lied, plainly. She wondered if this old man was one such man of the waves. And preferred not to risk offending him.
The old rōnin nodded and smiled, “And where are you from, Danzō-san?”
“Ryūkyū-shotō, oji-san,” she answered truthfully.
“Ahh! Ryūkyū-shotō…” He smiled widely now and looked wistfully to the sky for a moment. “You’re with some of those ones?” He waved a hand in the direction of the crowd. And she nodded.
He patted a spot next to himself on the boat and told her, “tell this old man about your travels, Danzō-san. It’s been too long since I saw the wild sea; what did you see on your way here?”
Azumi stepped towards the boat and obediently leaned against it, but didn’t sit. She thought back to her past weeks at sea. And she remembered one day most clearly of all. Firstly she remembered how dark the sky had been. And then how the winds had rocked the deck beneath her feet. The lookouts’ voices barely pierced the wind when they called out, “TATSUMAKI” — a dragon roll spouting from the ocean surface up to the stormy sky above.
“We saw a ryū ascending to Heaven…” she told the old man of the waves.
“Ho ho!” the old rōnin exclaimed incredulously. “It’s a beautiful thing to see, isn’t it? A scary thing! — Were you scared?”
Mizuno wasn’t sure which response the old man of the waves was looking for. To admit fear (and reverence) for the dragon? Or to deny fear like a brave young man?
But while she was still puzzling out a response, the old man went on, “Ryū have power that is absolutely… breathtaking!” he said with a smile and that distant gaze again. “You know what you were seeing right?”
Mizuno gave a polite nod, leaning forward slightly. “Ryū ascending — “ she began to repeat, but the old man was already answering his own question.
“A ryū passing from Earth to Heaven!” He looked up at the sky as he said it, his eyes beaming. “It might have been a new dragon! A fish or a snake just attaining the next phase of enlightenment…” His voice trailed off with a tone of awe with eyes still turned upward. “A beautiful power,” he said softly, almost in a whisper.
Mizuno Azumi thought back to the encounter at sea. The wind had whipped and pushed at her with a strength that seemed… intentional — like it commanded respect. She remembered a poisonous stench on-deck. Senchō’s loyal sage had burned some rancid concoction in a brazier, which apparently would drive off the ryū before the tatsumaki could overwhelm the ship. She heard the sound of his chanting through the oppressive wind, though she couldn’t make out the words.
“…But ryū’s beauty can be peaceful too,” the old rōnin spoke softly. “That can be just as breathtaking…” Looking her in the eye, the man asked, “have you seen ryūtō?”
“Lanterns? Ryū lanterns?” Azumi asked.
The old man gave an emphatic nod as he looked away again. “Yes, ryūtō! Where I grew up they come mostly in the summer. Rising from the sea — just balls of light. It’s the spirit of the ryū, you see! In its most graceful form! They ascend past the mountains and settle in the pine trees by the temple. Maybe they hear the prayers of the spirits there. And then they pass them onto Heaven… What do you think, child?” The old man turned towards Azumi.
She was lost in the old man’s daydream. “I… Well — yes, oji-san. Carrying the prayers — “
“AHHH!” Again the old man’s attention had already moved on to something else entirely — he was laughing as he watched the center of the crowd in front of them. Two roosters were lunging at each other. And leaping apart, then lunging again with raucous squawks and howls. The men who had carried them were standing a couple steps behind and the crowd had formed a loose circle.
“A sharp beak on that one!” the rōnin cheered. Then, pulling a pouch from his sleeve, he reached toward Mizuno. Here, child, place a bet for me on that one. For me. The whole pouch.” With his finger he indicated, “the red rooster. Give it to that man over there for me, Danzō-san.”
Mizuno respectfully accepted the pouch and walked forward, curious to see what it was in a cockfight that could draw together such a crowd of men from Nippon, Ryūkyū, and Luzon.
