—Issai Chozanshi, The Demon’s Sermon on the Martial Arts
Kazuko sat beside her husband on a campaign stool, never having sat upon a man’s chair before. Her armor creaked as she settled herself beside her husband in the half-circle of officers. The armored plates on her arms, legs, and shoulders felt as natural and comfortable as her robes. She had had her do-maru modified to fit her feminine contours rather than trying to squash her into a man’s shape.
Opposite her sat Tsunemori, grim and tight-lipped, and around the circle, Tsunetomo’s other officers, Yoshimura, Soun, Hiromasa.
One was still missing, and there had been no word of him for too many years. She dared not inquire, or else threaten the fragile trust that had regrown between her and Tsunetomo.
The six of them had already prayed together at the temple, entreating the gods for victory, and now they sat encircled by Tsunetomo’s maku, broad curtains woven with the Otomo clan mon of two apricot flowers, the headquarters of a warrior lord on campaign. The maku snapped and fluttered in the morning breeze, erected in the castle’s central courtyard. Before them in neat rows sat the unit commanders, armored and prepared for battle.
And now, the ceremonial meal that would send them off to battle, designed by the yin-yang masters to grant the greatest fortune. Servants brought the three courses with great solemnity, presented first to Tsunetomo, then to each of the other officers.
First came dried chestnuts; their name, kachi-guri, sounded like ‘victory.’ Kazuko accepted the tiny dish bearing three chestnuts and ate each of them with focused attention and reverence. Next came konbu, the seaweed so common in many meals. She ate each of the three leaves individually, chewing each, savoring the taste of the sea. Third came three awabi, raw abalone served in their shells. She chewed the slimy, gristly mass of each only once before letting it slide down her throat. And finally came saké served in three nested, porcelain cups. The profusion of threes represented Heaven, Earth, and Man, a sacred, lucky number. She downed the saké as a man would, in one gulp.
With the ceremonial meal completed, Tsunetomo raised his voice. “Fortune will be with us now in the coming battles, but there is one thing more.” He snapped his fingers and a squire emerged from behind the maku carrying a scarlet-laced kabuto.
“There are many who say women should not go to war,” he said. “They would bring ill fortune, they lack the strength of men, the bravery of men, and a litany of hidebound nonsense.” Some of his officers shifted uncomfortably at this. “Lady Kazuko has proven them wrong. I have watched her train with her women, watched them develop as warriors, and watched how she commands them. They will be a powerful force on the battlefield. To honor this moment, I present her with a kabuto. And on the menpo is the visage of one of legend’s most powerful creatures, a symbol of purity and goodness, wisdom and justice—the kirin.”
The squire bowed and presented the helmet to her.
It bore two deer-like antlers as a crest, and the face on the menpo was indeed that of a kirin, a flaming visage akin to both horse and deer, painted scarlet and traced with gold filigree.
Her breast filled with emotion, and tears smeared her vision. In the moment, the beauty of the kabuto was second only to the beauty of Tsunetomo’s words.
Tsunetomo said, “This kirin will bring good fortune. Wear it well, my lady.”
She bowed deeply and accepted the kabuto. “Thank you, my lord. My heart is full. I will endeavor to be worthy of such a gift.” Tears streaked her cheeks.
Then, the ceremony continued. Each of the captains stood, in turn, while their squires tied their swords and fixed their quivers.
Kazuko had no sword, so her squire, a woman named Yuko, presented her sheathed naginata.
After accepting their weapons, the captains mounted their horses, donned their helmets, and formed a procession before the maku. Kazuko’s helmet fit her perfectly. As she closed the kirin’s face over hers, a tingle shot through her from head to toe.
Tsunetomo was last, and Kazuko could only watch her husband with pride as he ceremonially girded himself for battle.
These preparations would grant good fortune in the coming days. The previous invasion had been so sudden there had been no time for proper ceremony, resulting in ill omens, and the Kyushu men had suffered for it.
In the fourth month, a disorganized force of Mongols and Koryo had attacked Tsushima, one of the two major islands between Kyushu and Koryo peninsula. Far better organized this time, the warriors there had beaten back the ill-prepared attack. Ever since, the Wolves of Kyushu had waited with weapons close at hand.
Now, two months later, a massive fleet had been seen approaching Ikishima, Tsushima’s sister island. From Ikishima, messengers had rushed across the sea to warn the Western Defense Region. When the messengers landed in Imazu and gave their tale, the alarm had spread by flaming beacon.
Tsunetomo’s horse was brought forth, and he mounted with the aid of a wooden step, as o-yoroi-style armor made it difficult. His squire handed him his kabuto, which he placed upon his head and tied under his chin.
Like the previous invasion, a small force of handpicked defenders would remain with the castle; but this time, Kazuko was riding forth to battle. Her warrior-women awaited her. They were as fervent, fierce, and loyal to her as her husband’s troops were to him. She had shrugged off the rampant skepticism, bombarding her from all directions, that women could not fight. Tomoe Gozen had long ago disproven such skepticism. Kazuko had won the women’s admiration and loyalty. She and Master Higuchi had made them masters of the naginata. Captain Ishii had made them into horse archers. Someone had taken to calling them Kazuko’s Scarlet Dragons. The name stuck.
All that remained now was to prove themselves in battle.
* * *
When Ken’ishi arrived in Hita town after two days’ ride, he heard from the townsfolk that Tsunetomo’s army was long gone. He visited his old house and found it had been granted to a visiting warrior from Kamakura, who had departed with Tsunetomo’s army.
After five years, riding through Hita town gave him a sense of wonder. The people he remembered had gotten older, as no doubt he had. But they looked beleaguered and hungry as well, any mirth long since gone from their faces. The buildings looked in need of repair, weathered and ill-kept.
He visited the Roasted Acorn for a quick meal and news. Except for the castle garrison, every samurai in the province had packed up and set forth with Tsunetomo’s army. Scores of peasant spearmen had marched with them as well.
In the castle, he found only a scant forty men. They were puzzled to see his return. Most of them thought Captain Ken’ishi was dead.
Even Yasutoki had gone with the army, traveling in the baggage train to help with planning and logistics.
As Ken’ishi rode down from the castle through the crowded marketplace, he spied a woman whose striking beauty was immediately familiar. She was talking to a vegetable farmer perhaps fifty paces from Ken’ishi. His gaze met hers, and in the instant before she looked away, he saw recognition there. Then she lowered the brim of her straw hat.
Yuri.
The ‘lily’ who had set Ishitaka’s heart afire.
He urged Storm through the crowd, but by the time he reached the vegetable farmer’s cart, she had disappeared. The farmer drew back from the mounted warrior looming over him.
Ken’ishi scanned the crowd. “That woman you were just speaking to, where did she go?”
The farmer raised both hands. “I’m sorry, my lord, I don’t know.”
“Have you seen her before?”
“A couple of times, perhaps. She’s new in town, she says, staying with her father, a merchant.”
Anger flared up in him. What was she doing back here, telling the same lies she told Ishitaka? And they were lies. Ishitaka had died for her. Ken’ishi had assumed her dead somewhere as well, perhaps far away in Kamakura. What could she be up to? A spy? For whom?
“She’s quite a looker, isn’t she, my lor
d?” the farmer said with a weathered half-grin.
Ken’ishi sighed. “She is indeed.”
Alas, he did not have time to search for her or to get to the bottom of it.
* * *
Dazaifu was another two days’ ride. In several places, the roads were clogged with troops moving north, many of them Otomo, but other lords from the southern clans as well.
Storm welcomed being pushed so hard. “We have had life too easy these last few years, and I am getting old!” the stallion said. “I do not live as long as you. Let us feel the wind and strike the ground with our hooves!”
Ken’ishi laughed and leaned lower over the horse’s mane as Storm kicked up more speed.
When he arrived in Dazaifu, he found the city surrounded by encampments and headquarters, tents clustered around the city like mushrooms around the base of a tree. He searched high and low for Lord Tsunetomo’s encampment, asking for news as he went.
The island of Ikishima had fallen once again. All the men had been put to the sword. He did not like to think about what happened to the women. Last time, the women had been lashed together with ropes passed through holes sliced through their palms and bound to the gunwales of the invading ships to protect the invaders from incoming arrows. Ken’ishi’s thoughts went back to the Taira warrior who had insulted him in Dazaifu. He said a brief prayer to the gods and buddhas on the warrior’s behalf.
This invasion fleet dwarfed the first, they said. Ken’ishi could hardly envision how that were possible. He had never imagined so many ships existed in all the world. The estimates regarding the size of the invasion fleet were scarcely believable. How could the Wolves of Kyushu hope to stand against so many, even with years of preparation?
Where the barbarians would strike next no one knew, but they now possessed a foothold within striking distance of Kyushu and a link for their supply chain back to Pusan.
Ken’ishi found the Otomo clan enclave on the north side of Dazaifu. Lord Tsunetomo and the other Otomo lords had clustered together again, sharing resources.
When he saw Lord Tsunetomo’s tent, he reined up and surveyed the area. His heart pounded.
Would Tsunetomo welcome him back? Had Lord Abe kept Tsunetomo apprised of his progress? Who would he encounter?
Yasutoki must also be about. Would he cut Yasutoki down at first sight and finally cleanse his evil from the world? No, not yet. That could wait until all the battles were fought.
He approached the two guards at the entrance to Tsunetomo’s tent. He recognized them, but did not know their names.
They also recognized him, shock writ large on their faces. “Captain Ken’ishi!”
Ken’ishi bowed to them. “If our lord is present, would you please announce me?”
One of them bowed and went inside.
The other said, “We thought you were dead, Captain!”
Ken’ishi smiled. “I was, for a while. I’m alive again.”
The first guard returned. “Please, come inside, Captain.”
Ken’ishi followed him, leaving his sword in a rack near the entrance.
Inside he found Lord Tsunetomo and Captain Tsunemori standing near a makeshift table, poring over a map. Ken’ishi recognized the coastline near Aoka village and north toward Shiga Island, which was connected to the coastline by a sandbar. The two men stared at him as if he had just stepped out of the Land of Dreams.
Ken’ishi knelt and bowed to them. “Lords, I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion.”
They returned his gesture. The world had passed five years without him, and the two brothers were no exception. Tsunetomo’s hair was now mostly gray, the lines in his face deeper. He had lost some of his blockish muscularity, but he moved with the same deliberate grace as ever.
Tsunemori cracked a half-grin. “So, again you come to me as if from nowhere on the eve of battle.” He now wore a long beard and mustache. The sparkle in his eyes, absent after Ishitaka’s death, had returned.
Ken’ishi smiled. “I hope to be of use again this time, Captain.”
“No doubt we’ll be able to find some barbarians for you to kill,” Tsunemori said.
Ken’ishi felt Tsunetomo’s gaze upon him, and he wished the lord would speak.
“I have come to request to join the defense forces,” Ken’ishi said. “I am aware that much has likely changed in my prolonged absence. I thank you for the opportunity to do what I have done. I am happy to serve in whatever stead you see fit.”
“Have you kept up your swordsmanship?” Tsunemori said. “I don’t imagine Lord Abe is much of a sparring partner.”
“Two thousand strokes a day with a bokken. I have slain many practice posts.”
The two brothers laughed.
The look of penetrating wonder on Lord Tsunetomo’s face made Ken’ishi squirm. Finally, Tsunetomo said, “Lord Abe informed us of the progress of your efforts, but he would never say when they might be complete. Are you whole again?”
“More whole than in a very long time, Lord.”
“You look better than the last time I saw you.”
“Thank you, Lord.”
“You still carry your father’s sword.” There was a tone in Tsunetomo’s voice Ken’ishi could not identify.
Ken’ishi glanced at Silver Crane’s hilt. “I...left everything behind. I regret the necessity. This sword and a horse are all I have now.”
Tsunetomo nodded. He went to the back of the tent, where some baggage was stacked. After some rummaging, he hefted out an armor case.
Ken’ishi recognized it, and his mouth fell open.
Tsunetomo’s gaze glimmered with hope. He placed the armor case on the ground between them—the same armor case Ken’ishi had received from him so long ago.
“Find Sergeant Michizane, six tents up the path. He will tell you about our plans.” Tsunetomo said. “We depart for Hakozaki in the morning.”
The sickly orchid
That I tended so...at last
Thanks me with a bud
—Taigi
“And where would you have us go? Back to Aoka village? We must stay where the mouths are!” Norikage snapped.
Hana scowled at him.
“Besides, my dear, the barbarians are not even here yet. With the wall in place, we shall escape ahead of them.”
Hana crossed her arms.
He softened his voice. “When the barbarians come, we’ll be first on the road out of Hakata. In the meantime, all these samurai have hungry stomachs and plenty of money.”
She sighed. She knew he was right.
Steam boiled around them from the cauldrons of broth and boiling water, exacerbating the heat of the summer day here in their corner shop, even with both counter windows propped open. His sweat-drenched sleeves were pulled up to his armpits. He mopped his brow with a damp cloth.
The small noodle shop he and Hana managed here near the Hakata docks had been an enjoyable, if some sometimes troublesome, decision after their hair’s breadth escape from Aoka. He found he enjoyed cooking, and Hana was the best woman he had ever known; kind, motherly, and unafraid of hard work, a fear that often plagued him. This life was a far cry, however, from his days growing up in the imperial court. What would his father say if he knew Norikage was selling ramen to sailors, samurai, and conscripted laborers? It amused Norikage to think his father would hang himself from shame. Or fall on a dagger. Or drink poison. Or—
A woman’s voice said, “May I have a bowl, please? And two rice balls?”
Norikage mouthed the word customer to Hana. He turned toward the counter—and blinked twice at the begrimed vision before him.
Dressed in threadbare peasant rags, hair unkempt under a straw hat, was a young woman whose beauty he had not seen equaled since he was exiled from court. Travel dust had caked around her eyes and mouth. She was perhaps twenty, but her eyes were blank slates of the sort possessed mainly by jaded old whores and people who had given up on the world. But she did not look like a whore. Something in her posture a
nd careful movements bespoke a spirit that was hidden, not broken.
He sputtered, unable to find words.
Hana stepped forward. “A bowl and two rice balls, eh? Can you pay?”
The woman laid a coin on the counter.
Hana scooped it up, gave Norikage a cautionary glance, and went about preparing the noodles.
A small head, just visible with a tiny upright topknot, stepped up to the counter beside the woman. “We eat now, mama?”
The woman nodded.
Norikage produced two rice balls from a basket and handed them across.
She accepted them and handed one to the boy. He snatched it and took a ravenous bite. His cheeks puffed like a squirrel’s as he chewed.
Norikage could not help but stare. He had never seen such a beautiful peasant woman. Her skin was porcelain besmirched with dust and sweat. An air of mystery clung to her as well. She removed her hat, but did not smooth her hair as most women did. She left it unkempt, half-obscuring her features.
“Your son looks like a fine boy,” he said. “How old is he?”
Her face blossomed into friendly smile. “Five.”
“Oh, what an amusing age. Hana and I have a daughter that age. And a son who’s three.”
The woman smiled wider, but there was an emptiness in it.
Then a gruff voice called through the other window. “Hey, Norikage, you skinny fart. It’s time.”
A burly, bald-headed man leaned into the other window, palms on the counter. He wore a sword with a battered, old scabbard thrust into his obi. Behind him stood another man, taller, thick-muscled, and low-browed.
“Is it already time, Master Shokichi?” Norikage chuckled nervously, his innards clenched like a fist.
Hana turned away, white-lipped with suppressed contempt.
Where the hell was Ken’ishi when Norikage needed him? He could dispose of these ruffians without a second thought. He often wondered where the ronin was nowadays, regretting their falling out. Meanwhile he counted out coins, placed them in a bowl, and handed the bowl to Shokichi.
Spirit of the Ronin Page 33