She bowed in return. “It is a meager recompense for the gift you gave me.”
The horsemen took up positions both before and behind the small procession, escorting them the last few ri to Nishimuta no Jiro’s estate.
Ken’ishi could only revel silently in his good fortune. He thanked the sparrow. He thanked Jizo. He walked with as much silent dignity as he could muster, his back straighter, his shoulders square, his chin high, his step confident.
He had never seen horses so closely before, never been able to examine them. He marveled at the muscles rippling beneath the brown coats and wondered at how these strange beasts moved with such grace. Even more, how the samurai rode them with such masterful ease. He imagined himself on horseback galloping across open fields, the wind blowing through his fine flowing robes, Silver Crane freshly polished and gleaming in the sunlight.
The sight of Lord Nishimuta’s estate shattered his daydream and stole the breath from his chest. The magnificent house seemed to hang on the side of a small mountain just off the valley floor, floating on a billowing avalanche of dense foliage, painted gold by the setting sun. A town nestled against the base of the mountain. As his gaze traveled over the gracefully sloping roofs and gables, Ken’ishi thought this must be the greatest day of his life. The moment he first held Silver Crane in his hands had been a profound moment, but the joy and pride he had felt then were quickly subsumed by the trepidation of facing the unknown for the first time. Today he felt his fortunes coming together, and he thanked the kami for their gifts. To find service with a lord such as this was his dream, to serve with courage and honor. Knowing this lord was the father of the beautiful maiden walking beside him made the dream even greater.
In the past few days, he had come to believe that Kazuko would be always at his side. Just like his only friend, Akao, he could no longer imagine his life without her in it. Her smile, her laugh, her scent. His mind slipped back to wondering if she felt the same way about him. The small inner voices of the kami told him that she did. But some part of him also wanted to hear it from her lips, some part of him that would never give itself over until he heard the words, some part of him that would always doubt he could receive such a gift until it was in his grasp. Love. Yes, this must be what love is. He had heard of it in songs and conversation, and had vainly tried to imagine what it must be like. But now he was sure, with a realization that came as simple and clear as the words themselves. He loved her. But part of him also knew that a wealthy lord like her father would never allow a poor, uncultured ronin to have his daughter. Girls were wed to make allies for their families; they rarely had any choice. But perhaps if he proved himself quickly, learned all the rules and manners as quickly as he could. . . . Daydreams filled his thoughts, making him practically giddy with excitement, masking the buzzing spark of the kami whispering to him, letting him forget that something was amiss.
Eighteen
I sit at my desk.
What can I write to you?
Sick with love,
I long to see you in the flesh.
I can write only,
“I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Love cuts through my heart
And tears my vitals.
Spasms of longing suffocate me
And will not stop.
—The Love Poems of Marichiko
Ken’ishi sat alone in a small room, a single lamp casting huge shadows on the latticed, rice-paper walls. The people of the household muttered and shuffled around him with fleeting shadows on the walls. Captain Sakamoto had ushered him in here and told him to wait. Someone would come for him soon enough. Akao had disappeared into the village to search for food; all the armed men and throngs of people around the manor house made him uneasy. When they parted, Akao gave him a long, mournful look. “Beware, Ken’ishi. Danger. Waiting here.” Ken’ishi’s belly swirled with unexpected misgivings. He did not like leaving his friend alone in a town full of strangers.
A great commotion erupted at the return of the lord’s daughter. The house servants rushed out and gathered up Kazuko and Hatsumi and bundled them into the house almost before he could blink, and the uproar receded like a storm into the depths of the house.
The manor house was a beautiful structure, tall and stately, its white plaster walls reaching up three stories to grasp the rays of the dying sunlight, the flaring, tiled roofs bathed in a deep crimson, built into the slope of the small mountain above the valley floor. A single, narrow road led up the mountainside. There was no palisade or other fortification to protect against attack. The manor was a complex of buildings, with stables and barracks and servants’ quarters that were camouflaged by the rocky, forested slope. From this vantage point, the entire valley spread out below him, disappearing in the hazy, blue distance, the patchwork of green darkening with the coming of night, the falling sun raising the shadows on the mountainsides.
Captain Sakamoto had led Ken’ishi into the house and placed him in an empty room near the entrance where guests customarily waited. With a twinge of discomfort at leaving Silver Crane, he allowed the servant to take it from him and place it reverently in the rack for guests’ weapons near the entrance. The servant also took his bow and pack, leaving him feeling naked and vulnerable.
As he sat in the empty silence, he wished for his flute, but it was in his pack. Music fluttered in his chest like a nightingale, yearning for release upon the spirits of the air.
He imagined Kazuko speaking with her father. Ken’ishi knew that she would speak well of him, and he hoped with all his being that Lord Nishimuta would heed her words.
* * *
“Father, I am home,” Kazuko said as she shuffled into his chamber.
Lord Nishimuta no Jiro looked up from the scrolls on his desk, and his dark eyes widened with pleasure. Her father was a large man, whose once-powerful thews had softened with the luxury of his life. His graying hair was perfectly cut and styled, as always, his robes glimmering with the opulence of fine red silk and gold embroidery. He was dressed finer than was his custom, and she wondered why for a moment. He preferred simple samurai kusode and trousers, perhaps imagining himself still the young warrior who had once seized these lands from his older brothers. A smile twitched at the corner of his lips, so she knew that he was indeed pleased to see her. The relief was evident in his voice. “Ah, my dear, it is good that you are home. I was . . . worried.”
“I am sorry to worry you so, Father. But I have such an exciting tale to tell!” She knelt politely across the desk from him, folding her hands in her lap.
“Exciting, eh?” His voice took on the tone that it always did when he was humoring her.
Her tale of the bandit attack, and the oni, and Ken’ishi, and the long walk home tumbled out of her in a breathless rush. She could hardly speak fast enough. As she did, she saw glimpses of emotion flickering across her father’s almost immobile features. Surprise, disbelief, anger, sorrow, relief, amusement. He listened to her quietly, with no need to spur her on. The more she spoke, the more penetrating his scrutiny became. She felt it boring into her.
When she finished, he asked her, “And where is this ronin now?”
“I’m sure he is waiting to meet you. He is ever so strong. He is an . . . interesting man. He wishes for a worthy master, Father. There are none more worthy than you.”
Her father laughed. “There is no need to flatter me, my dear. If he can kill an oni, he is certainly a man worth some consideration.”
“Thank you, Father. I am so sure he will serve you well. But tell me, why are you so dressed up today?”
Her father leaned back on his heels and rested his palms on his thighs. “We have a guest coming today. A man from Lord Tsunetomo’s court.”
“Really? Why? Who is it? I met many people there . . . before.”
“And how was the cherry blossom viewing, my dear?”
“Oh, it was wonderful!”
“And how did you find Lord Tsunetomo? Was he a gracious host?�
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“Oh, yes, Father! He is a very kind man, a very strong man.”
“I am glad to hear you say it. Now, be a good girl and send Hatsumi to my meeting hall. I need to speak with her.”
“Of course, Father.” Kazuko smiled, but she still felt a twinge of distress at being so quickly dismissed after her long ordeal.
* * *
Lord Nishimuta sat on the dais in his meeting hall. His deep-set dark eyes gazed down on Hatsumi with an inscrutable glitter. She swallowed hard, feeling a sick blackness swirling in her belly like tar. She clenched her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking and shifted uncomfortably at the sharp ache in her nether region.
“So, Hatsumi, what do you wish to speak to me about?” His broad mouth bore a concerned expression. “What was so important that could not wait?”
Hatsumi prostrated herself. “Thank you for allowing me to speak, my lord.” As she straightened into a sitting position, she allowed a bit of worry to slip into her voice. “It is about Kazuko.”
Lord Nishimuta’s face lit up at the mention of his daughter, then darkened again as he said, “What is it? She is fine, is she not?”
“She has spoken to you about the ronin, yes?”
“Yes, she has. I am going to speak to him later this evening.”
Hatsumi took a deep breath. “My lord, I wish to give you another view of this man before you speak to him yourself.”
“Go on, then.”
“My lord, the ronin is a strong man, tough, and a skilled warrior.”
“That must be true for him to have defeated the oni.”
A chill skittered down Hatsumi’s spine. Dim flashes of memory sent all other thoughts spinning into oblivion. The blunt explosions of pain as the creature’s fists pummeled her into the bushes. Something tearing at her clothing, either branches or claws. The creature’s obscene laughter. The tremendous weight upon her, crushing her into the carpet of dead leaves like the weight of a downed bullock. The splitting, stabbing agony as its huge, blunt organ tore into her womb. The hideous, horned face and feral, yellow eyes, only inches from hers. Foul spittle dripping into her mouth. Vile breath in her face, suffocating her. The final merciful blackness. . . .
Lord Nishimuta’s voice jerked her awareness back to the moment. “Isn’t that true, Hatsumi?”
The tone of his words made her wonder how long she had drifted away. He was not a man who allowed underlings to waste his time. She said, “Yes, that’s true, my lord. But, my lord, he is a ronin. He has no family.”
“A ronin by unfortunate circumstance of birth, not by choice or failure. I don’t believe that to be an unfavorable mark against a man. There are many great warriors who came from humble beginnings.”
“My lord, he is not merely a penniless ronin, but an uncouth ruffian. Have you seen him?”
“No.”
“My lord, I cannot imagine anyone with worse manners and bearing. His manners are worse than most peasants’.”
Lord Nishimuta grunted. “Another unfortunate circumstance of his upbringing. No fault of his own. Besides, with time he could learn what manners he needs.”
“My lord, he is a mean, cruel man. He almost killed a diseased beggar. He didn’t like the beggar’s smell.”
“What of that? Killing one of the unclean is no crime. Doubtless, this beggar frightened my daughter. She mentioned this beggar. His actions must have been in her defense. This shows great loyalty and proper vigilance, unusual in a man with no proper education.”
“My lord, we do not know the truth about his upbringing. Did Kazuko speak of that?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“He told us a tale of how he was raised. I don’t believe it, because it makes him either a liar or a madman.”
Lord Nishimuta’s eyes narrowed.
“My lord, he claims to have been raised by a tengu.”
His eyes widened. “A tengu!” His words tumbled into a brief chuckle. “That would be quite a tale indeed!”
“My lord, no one that I know has ever seen a tengu, nor have I ever heard of anyone seeing one. They are creatures from stories!”
Lord Nishimuta laughed again. “Ah, Hatsumi, I have never seen my ancestors either, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist! I have never seen a kappa, or an oni, or the Buddha himself but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Evidence of their presence is all around us, but we cannot see them. Perhaps his tale is true. Perhaps it is just a tale. Telling a tale doesn’t make him a madman. I will size him up when I speak to him.” His tone indicated this conversation was nearly over.
Hatsumi took another deep breath. “My lord, there is one other thing you must know.” She paused for a moment, gathering her courage. If Kazuko ever found out she had spoken of this, the girl would never forgive her. She lowered her voice almost to a whisper. “He is in love with your daughter.”
She glanced at Lord Nishimuta’s face. His left eyelid began to twitch, and the pleasant mood disappeared from his face like the blue sky behind a gathering typhoon. But somehow, surprise was not present.
His voice hardened along with his face. “Have they been alone together?”
“No, my lord, never. Nevertheless, my lord, if I may be so bold, she reads too many pillow books. She is not as worldly as you and I. I would never question her honor or loyalty, but her sense of duty is stronger toward her own desires, not toward the family. May I be forgiven for saying so, but Kazuko is in love with the ronin, too. My lord, from her own lips she confided in me her feelings for him.”
“Enough!”
Hatsumi prostrated herself again, quivering. She feared death, but if her death meant that the filthy ronin would not sully the body of her precious Kazuko, then her death would be welcome.
He appeared to relax just a bit, like a stone block in a castle wall settling into place. “I have already made my plans for him, and this changes nothing.”
Hatsumi’s mouth fell open in shock.
Lord Nishimuta ignored her reaction. She studied his face, trying to glean some indication of his thoughts, but it was like trying to read the face of a stone block. His piercing gaze speared her to the planks of the floor, and his voice was slow and cold. “Hatsumi, listen well. You will never speak of this again. Never. Do you understand?”
She gulped and bowed. “Understood.”
* * *
Someone softly approached in the hallway outside his room. A woman’s silhouette appeared on the rice paper, knelt outside the door, and said, “Excuse me, sir. I have a gift for you from Lord Nishimuta. Please accept his gratitude. May I come in?”
“Yes.”
The door slid open, and the servant woman bowed to him, lifting forward a bundle wrapped in bright blue cloth, tied with a yellow string. He turned on his knees and took the bundle in both hands, bowing as he did so. He said, “Please send your master my sincere thanks.”
“You are invited to dinner this evening in honor of his daughter’s safe return. Dinner is in one hour. Do you desire a bath?”
“A bath would be good.”
“Then may I take you there?”
“Please.”
She took him to the bathhouse, a small building separated from the manor house. The water was warm and comfortable, and the wooden bathtub was huge, wide enough for him to stretch his legs, and deep enough that the water came up to his neck. Bathing in warm water was still a novelty. Until the priest’s house, he had only cleaned himself in cold rivers and icy streams. As he soaked in the warm water, images of Kazuko filled his mind. After he climbed out of the bath, he slipped into a clean robe left for him inside the door and found the servant woman waiting outside to escort him back to his room.
Upon returning to his room, he unwrapped the package the servant had brought him. Inside he found crisp black trousers, a long black sash, and a deep-blue robe made of fine, soft silk. He gasped at the richness of this garment. He would look like a proper gentleman wearing these clothes! Another shiver of excitement
rippled through him.
When the hour came for him to be summoned to dinner, he was well dressed, a fine, handsome figure. He stood straighter, his step surer than if he had been dressed in his old rags. His breast filled with pride. But even so, when he entered the hall where the meal was served, the sight of so many noble eyes upon him left a queer fluttering in his belly, like a fresh-killed game fowl spitted on an arrow.
Lord Nishimuta sat on the raised dais at the far end of the room, with a vision of pure loveliness seated beside him. Kazuko’s garments were fresh and beautiful. Her hair was combed and styled, her face lightly powdered, her lovely lips rouged. About a dozen other people sat in two facing rows stretching away from the platform. Captain Sakamoto sat on the floor nearest to the lord’s right hand. His gaze was hard but curious as he regarded Ken’ishi, as if he was waiting for something momentous to happen. Hatsumi was absent. He wondered if that was because she was only a servant. So many subtleties, so many unknowns in the society of people. He felt even more unarmed and helpless than ever, like a fish trying to walk on land. He tripped over the doorjamb as he stepped into the room, causing a polite stir of amusement among those gathered. Nevertheless he knelt and prostrated himself before the lord’s household, introducing himself as he did so.
Lord Nishimuta’s voice was deep and commanding. “Ken’ishi, I am Nishimuta no Jiro. I am pleased to have you as a guest in my house.” He gestured toward an empty place at the end of one of the lines, farthest away from the platform.
“I am honored to be your guest, Nishimuta-sama.” Ken’ishi bowed again, lower, and then took his place. His place was located next to a plump, stuffy-looking man with ink-stained fingers, who kept glancing at Ken’ishi surreptitiously. His bearing suggested varying degrees of curiosity and distrust.
Heart of the Ronin Page 19