Heart of the Ronin (25 page)

Lord Nishimuta continued, “We have another most honorable guest tonight.” He gestured toward the waspish man, thin, bookish, and sour looking who sat opposite Captain Sakamoto. The thin man bowed in return. Ken’ishi could hardly see this other visitor from where he sat because of several people interposing. “This is Otomo no Yasutoki, chamberlain to Lord Otomo no Tsunetomo.”

Yasutoki said, “It is the greatest honor to be a guest in the house of Lord Nishimuta. May this be the first of many cordial meetings between our two houses.”

The servants brought trays of food to the guests. Before Ken’ishi moved a muscle, he watched the people near him, observed how they behaved, how they ate, how they held their bowls, how they moved. The effort at controlling his perpetual hunger in the face of so much food was difficult. No one laughed at him, or looked at him with scorn or derision, so he considered that he must have succeeded in his efforts to appear respectable.

Throughout dinner, Ken’ishi stole surreptitious glances at Kazuko. Once, he caught her eye, and he smiled at her. She quickly suppressed her own smile in return, but could not hide the faint blush in her cheeks. The warmth of affection in his belly stirred, the promise of a shared secret.

When the meal was over, he was certain that he had never eaten so well in his entire life. His belly was full, and his head was swimming from the potent sake.

“Ken’ishi!” Lord Nishimuta called. “You have been remarkably silent for an honored guest. Please regale us all with the tale of how you slew the oni.”

Ken’ishi nearly wilted. “My lord, I’m not a storyteller. There’s not much to tell.”

“Come now! I won’t have ‘no’ for an answer. To hear my daughter speak of it, one would believe it to be the stuff of legends.”

Ken’ishi blushed and proceeded hesitantly. “Very well. I don’t have the words of a poet. I can only speak plainly.” He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

“Then plainly it is. Let us not put a robe on a pig!”

The guests tittered.

Ken’ishi swallowed hard, trying to decide whether the lord’s statement was meant as an insult. Then he began his tale, slow and halting at first from his care not to use words the listeners might consider vulgar or unseemly, but as he drew further into the tale, he found that it took on a life of its own. He tried to note the reaction of Lord Nishimuta and his guests, but their faces were inscrutable. Even as he spoke, he thought the whole story sounded unbelievable; however, he had been there, and he remembered it with perfect clarity.

As he spoke, he noticed that the feeling of unease had returned stronger than ever. Danger was near. But how could that be, in a place like this? Then he noticed the man named Yasutoki watching him. His gaze was as sharp and penetrating as the point of a spear. The man had a lithe grace about him that he tried to conceal, but Ken’ishi noted it well. Ken’ishi also noted the glint of something else in the man’s eyes. It was as if Yasutoki knew him, but Ken’ishi was certain he had never met Yasutoki before. Yasutoki noticed that Ken’ishi had observed him, and all expression and interest left his eyes like an extinguished flame. The hairs rose on the back of Ken’ishi’s neck. He must beware of that man.

He ended his tale with a recount of the journey to Lord Nishimuta’s estate.

“Well told, Ken’ishi! Well told! You do not have the words of a poet, but you have the heart of a tiger!”

“I could not have defeated the demon without Kazuko’s help. Lord Nishimuta must be a great warrior to have taught her so well.”

Lord Nishimuta laughed. “And you do have the tongue of a courtier! Yes, my daughter is quite skilled with the naginata. It is a traditional weapon in my family, and alas, I lack the sons to teach it to. Thank you for the tale, Ken’ishi. I now have a tale of my own. An announcement, to be precise.”

The dinner guests’ attention now focused on Lord Nishimuta.

Lord Nishimuta continued, “The visit of the honored Yasutoki is not merely one of pleasure, but of auspicious news. He brings us welcome news indeed.”

Yasutoki said, “Nishimuta-sama is a gracious host and a worthy friend to my lord, Otomo no Tsunetomo.” His voice was smooth as oil, and he spoke with deep, measured tones.

Lord Nishimuta said, “It is my honor and pleasure to announce a new alliance between the houses of Nishimuta and Otomo. Our two houses are like stones in the same castle wall, side-by-side, as firm as the earth itself, an alliance that will form an anchor of power in this land. And my beautiful daughter will form the mortar between those two stones. I have offered her in marriage to Lord Tsunetomo, and he has accepted!” Lord Nishimuta’s smile was broad and beaming.

The dinner guests clapped in pleasure and nodded their appreciation at the good news.

The rest of the evening’s conversation dissolved into a muffled buzzing in Ken’ishi’s ears, like a hornets’ nest covered with a blanket, and his belly felt as if someone had just kicked him. He could not help staring at Lord Nishimuta. The older man’s dark eyes flicked toward Ken’ishi just for an instant, and in that instant, Ken’ishi read the full knowledge of Lord Nishimuta’s words. The lord’s eyes were not spiteful or vicious, but they were resolved. A poor, masterless warrior would never have
his
daughter, not even for an instant. The idea was ludicrous.

Ken’ishi noticed that his hands quivered in his lap like wind-blown grass. The dinner guests expressed their congratulations to Lord Nishimuta while Kazuko sat as silent as a stone beside him. Her gaze was fixed and unmoving on the floor in front of her, and she looked pale. Sake bowls were raised and drained to celebrate Lord Nishimuta’s good fortune. Ken’ishi’s mind raced, and his heart thundered. Why did she not say anything? Why did she not protest? But he already knew the answer. She did not dare. The quivering in his belly began to congeal into a gobbet of molten lead. He wanted to leap to his feet and run, to flee this castle, this betrayal, and never look back. But he could not. Insulting Lord Nishimuta with unseemly behavior might cost Ken’ishi his life. So he just sat quietly, trying to breathe, struggling not to explode like a toad hit with a hammer.

Mercifully, dinner was over soon after that, and Ken’ishi retired to his room. He felt numb, as if he had just been beaten by a hundred clubs. He wondered if he would be angry in the future, because he had a vague feeling that he should be. The logic of it all was clear, even in the fog of his shock and dismay. Kazuko would never be his. Never. She belonged to another. How could she let him fall in love with her when she was already promised to another? But at the same time, he knew that their love had been impossible from the beginning, and perhaps he was angry with himself for ever allowing such feelings for her. Part of him raged with anger and hurt, and part of him spoke with a calm inner voice saying that it could never have been any other way.

He shoved these flashes, these stabs of emotion aside and settled himself again into the cold, logical numbness. Lord Nishimuta’s gifts and compliments had been nothing more than a show, a way to thank publicly the poor, penniless, masterless beggar, while doing nothing of substance, and making certain any complications to Kazuko’s betrothal were removed.

Then with crystal clarity, he realized that his life was in danger. Lord Nishimuta, or one of his retainers, might well decide to remove him more permanently. He had to get away. He began gathering his things for departure. He looked up as one of the sliding doors whished aside, revealing Captain Sakamoto standing above him.

“Come with me.” Captain Sakamoto’s tone was carefully neutral. A sliver of ice pierced Ken’ishi’s breast. Death was near, and he welcomed it.

Ken’ishi stood, picking up his things, saying nothing, and instinctively began to measure Sakamoto’s stance and carriage. Sakamoto led him back to the foyer of the manor house. Ken’ishi’s heart beat like a smith’s hammer against his breastbone, seeming to choke off his air. Sakamoto picked up Ken’ishi’s traveling pack and thrust it toward him. Ken’ishi took it. The sliver of ice in his breast became a chunk of iceberg, crushing his ribs from within. Sakamoto then took Silver Crane from the rack, but did not hand it over.

More than anything now, he wanted Silver Crane in his hand. He needed its strength. In the course of an hour, his life had become nothing more than a hollow shell. Ken’ishi’s spirit reached out for his weapon, yearned for it in his hand, and he felt something strange, unexpected, yet familiar.

The blade returned his call. Like a distant voice across a chasm.

Sakamoto gestured toward the open door. Ken’ishi’s jaw locked shut, and his clenched fists could have ground a sapling to splinters. He stepped outside, and Sakamoto followed two steps behind.

With each step down into the lamp-lit courtyard, Ken’ishi’s stomach grew colder and heavier.

Sakamoto stopped, and Ken’ishi turned, bathed in the lamplight from the house. Sakamoto held out Ken’ishi’s sword. With the light behind Sakamoto, Ken’ishi could hardly see his face, but the man’s voice was dead. “Regrettably, your services will not be required.”

Ken’ishi reached out, took his weapon, and slid it through his fine new sash. His clenched teeth would barely let him speak. “I saved his daughter’s life! That is worth nothing?”

“What sort of reward were you hoping for? Her hand in marriage?” He threw his head back and laughed.

Ken’ishi said nothing, feeling his ears burning.

Sakamoto’s voice grew as cold as steel. “Today, before you arrived, we received news that a Nishimuta clan vassal named Takenaga was slain in a duel in Uchida village. He was slain by a ronin matching your description. If you wanted to remain undiscovered, you should have had the sense at least to change your name.”

Ken’ishi’s back stiffened. “It was a duel of honor! And I offered Takenaga two chances to make it a non-lethal bout, but he refused.”

A flicker of surprise flashed in Sakamoto’s eyes. “So you do not deny it!”

“I deny nothing.”

Sakamoto snorted with disdain, then his voice rose. “Takenaga was my friend and comrade. We fought many battles against men just like you. He was a great swordsman! He was preparing to open his own training hall.”

“I was better, and that is why he lost.”

“Why you arrogant little cock!” Sakamoto laughed again harshly. “Be that as it may, you saved the life of my lord’s daughter and brought her safely home. Saving her life purchased yours. For now. If you are present in the village at sunrise, you will be arrested and executed. Go now. Leave this province and never return.”

Three other samurai took places behind their captain.

Ken’ishi turned without another word. He could not breathe. He could not speak. But his dignity would remain intact. The wood of his scabbard creaked with the ferocity of his grip. He walked into the darkness, the rubble of his dreams strewn behind him.

* * *

A silent shadow shifted imperceptibly in the blackness between a storehouse and a stable. The shadow watched Sakamoto hand over the sword to the ronin. Yasutoki was amused to see that the ronin was close to exploding. Ah, the furious emotions of youth and their obsessions with love. So predictable, so easy to manipulate. The sword glinted with silver in the lamplight as the ronin clasped it. Then Yasutoki’s eyes fixed on the weapon.

Something familiar about that sword. . . .

Silver cranes on the hilt, mother-of-pearl cranes on the scabbard. He stifled a gasp of surprise. Could it be? How was it possible?

Yasutoki watched the ronin go, and silently cursed that he could not follow. Even though he had retired to his room for the evening, an extended absence might be missed. He had to get back inside soon.

How had a weapon like Silver Crane fallen into the hands of a young ronin like this one? How had it ventured so far? Did the ronin have any idea how many men would kill to have that sword in their possession? Did he know of the powers it was said to possess? How could he? For all of the ronin’s formidable prowess, he was little more than an ignorant bumpkin.

Now he had even more reason to seek this ronin. Recovering a weapon like Silver Crane, one that had been lost to the world for so long. . . . A swirl of fresh greed and ambition formed in his belly, and he smiled. No, a ronin like this could not be allowed to despoil such a weapon. It must be returned to the hands of a true noble, a noble of the proper clan.

He cursed again as the ronin disappeared into the darkness. He would find him. There was no question; it was only a matter of time.

Nineteen

Making love with you

Is like drinking seawater.

The more I drink

The thirstier I become,

Until nothing can slake my thirst

But to drink the entire sea.

—
The Love Poems of Marichiko

Kazuko sat on the floor in a limp, inconsolable pile, weeping into her sleeves. The soft cloth was soaked with tears. She did not know how long she had been weeping. She remembered little after her father’s announcement of her betrothal. She wanted nothing more than to leap to her feet and scream in protest, but the slightest hint of public protest would have dishonored him. He might have hated her forever, perhaps disowned her. Then in the midst of her shock and grief, she remembered Ken’ishi and thought that she would not care what her father did, as long as she and Ken’ishi could be together. She remembered stealing glances at Ken’ishi afterwards, seeing the utter devastation in his face, the sick agony, the desperate fear, all barely concealed. She had grown to know him well in the short time they had been together, and she could read him well.

She prayed that he did not hate her. She could not bear that. He must think that she had betrayed him. What he must think of her brought a fresh torrent of tears and shuddering sobs.

Hatsumi’s voice intruded on her misery. “Now, now, dear. It’s not as bad as all that. Lord Tsunetomo is a good man. He will make a fine husband.”

“I don’t care about that!” Kazuko snapped.