Dannoshin ushered Sano into a small fenced enclosure. From a pulley attached to a pole, a man hung by a rope tied around his ankles. His head and torso dangled into a pit dug in the ground. His entire body was swathed in dirty hemp sacking, except for the right arm, which dangled free. Two guards awaited his confession. Sano stared, aghast.

“This torture method was devised by the governor who ruled Nagasaki seventy years ago,” Dannoshin said. “He convinced a Jesuit priest to renounce his faith this way. He also forced Christian women to crawl naked through the streets, where they were violated by ruffians. Then he had them thrown into tubs full of snakes.” Saliva welled at the corners of Dannoshin’s smile. “When the snakes entered their bodies, the women were more than willing to give up.”

Seizing the rope, he hauled the prisoner out of the pit. The man’s face was purple and bloated, his eyes swollen shut. Blood oozed from his mouth, nose, and ears. His shaved crown and knotted hair marked him as a samurai; his lips moved in a cracked whisper: “God have mercy on my soul …”

“He’s been here four days,” Dannoshin said. He peered into the prisoner’s face. “Tozō. Are you ready to renounce your faith and tell me the names of other Christians you know? If you are, then just raise your hand, and I’ll free you.”

The prisoner’s arm remained limp. “God … Gesu … Maria …” he whispered.

Though conditioned to despise Christians and accept the bakufu’s authority, Sano admired the prisoner’s courage. He deplored torture, and the perversion that made Dannoshin enjoy such awful work. Sano remembered that Christianity was a tool of war, used by the barbarians to command loyalty and foment internal strife. Had it not been suppressed and its foreign proponents expelled, the Japanese might now be subjects of the Spanish crown. Sano had sworn a blood oath against Christianity, but he couldn’t allow such terrible abuse of a helpless fellow samurai. All his anger toward the cruel, oppressive Tokugawa regime rose up in him.

“Take him down!” Sano ordered.

Dannoshin gaped. “But he hasn’t cooperated yet.”

“I don’t care. Take him down. Now!”

“All right. If you say so.” Shrugging, the chief persecutor let his minions lay the prisoner on the ground. He shot Sano a glance full of resentful insinuation. “Four days’ work, wasted. One might think that even a naive, thoughtless newcomer would know better than to sympathize with Christian rabble. There is such a thing as guilt by inference and association.”

Sano didn’t lower himself to answer the chief persecutor’s insults or threats. He couldn’t stand the sight of Dannoshin or the smirking guards. “Leave us,” he said.