by Lian Hearn
“He will become my son-in-law. Surely that will gratify his father!”
“Unless Sunaomi himself has the feelings of a devoted son toward you, a betrothal will do nothing,” Gemba replied.
Takeo was silent, recalling what had happened at the shrine, the hostility between the cousins, fearing Sunaomi had been scarred by it.
“He saw the houou,” he said finally. “I believe he has good instincts.”
“Yes, I thought so too. Well, send him to us. We will look after him, and if there is any good in him, it will be nurtured and developed.”
“I suppose he is old enough now—he turned nine this year.”
“Let him come when we return.”
“He lives with me as my nephew, as my future son, yet he is a hostage to his father’s loyalty. I dread the thought that I may one day have to order his death,” Takeo confessed.
“It will not come to that,” Gemba said.
“I will write to my wife tonight with this suggestion.”
Minoru had accompanied Takeo as usual, and that night at their first stop Takeo dictated letters to Kaede, and to Taku in Hofu. He felt the need to talk to Taku, to hear firsthand news from the West, and requested him to come to Inuyama—they would meet there. For Taku it would be an easy journey by ship from Hofu and then along the river in one of the flat-bottomed barges that plied between the castle town and the coast.
“You may come alone,” he dictated. “Leave your charge and her companion in Hofu. If it is impossible for you to get away, write to me.”
“Is that wise?” Minoru inquired. “Letters can be intercepted, especially…”
“Especially what?”
“If the Muto family are no longer sure where their loyalties lie?”
For Takeo relied on the networks of the Tribe to carry correspondence at speed between the cities of the Three Countries, young men of great stamina relaying letters from town to town. It was something else that he had always depended on Taku to control.
He stared now at Minoru, doubt beginning to creep through him. His scribe knew more of the secrets of the Three Countries than anyone.
“If the Muto family choose Zenko, which way will Taku go?” he said quietly.
Minoru raised his shoulders very slightly, but his lips were pressed firmly together and he did not reply directly. “Shall I write your last sentence?” he asked.
“Insist that Taku come in person.”
This conversation remained in the back of Takeo’s mind as they continued their journey toward the East. I have outwitted the Kikuta for so long, he thought. Can I really escape the Muto too, if they turn against me?
He began even to suspect the loyalty of the Kuroda brothers, Jun and Shin, who accompanied him as usual. He had trusted them completely till now—though they could not use invisibility, they could perceive it, and they had been trained in the fighting techniques of the Tribe by Kenji himself. Their vigilance had protected him many times in the past, but if they had to choose between himself and the Tribe, he asked himself again, which way would they go?
He remained constantly alert, always listening for the slightest sound that heralded an attack. The horse, Tenba, caught his mood—over the months Takeo had ridden him they had formed a strong bond, almost as strong as that with Shun. Tenba was as responsive and intelligent, but more highly strung. Both man and horse arrived in Inuyama tense and tired, with the hardest part of the journey still to come.
Inuyama was filled with excitement and activity; the arrival of Lord Otori and the mustering of the army meant merchants and armorers were kept busy day and night; money and wine flowed equally. Takeo was welcomed by his sister-in-law, Ai, and her husband, Sonoda Mitsuru.
Takeo was fond of Ai, admiring her gentleness and the kindness of her nature. She did not have the almost supernatural beauty of her sisters, but her appearance was attractive. It had always pleased him that she and Mitsuru had been able to marry, for they genuinely loved each other. Ai had often told the story of how the guards at Inuyama had come to put her and Hana to death when they heard of Arai’s death and the destruction of his army, but Mitsuru had taken command of the castle, hidden the girls away in safety, and negotiated the surrender of the East to the Otori. In his gratitude, Takeo had arranged the marriage with Ai, which it was obvious both sides desired.
Takeo had trusted him for years—they were bound by close ties of marriage, and Mitsuru had grown into a pragmatic, sensible man who, while not lacking in personal bravery, disliked the senseless destruction of warfare. Many times he had brought his skills at negotiating into Takeo’s service—together with his wife, he shared Takeo’s vision of a prosperous country as well as his refusal to tolerate either torture or bribery.
But Takeo’s tiredness made him suspicious of everyone around him. Sonoda is from the Arai clan, he reminded himself. His uncle, Akita, was Arai’s second-in-command. What vestiges of loyalty does he still harbor toward Arai’s son?
He was made more uneasy by the fact that there was no sign of Taku, nor any word from him. He sent for Taku’s wife, Tomiko; she had had letters from him in the spring, but nothing recently. She did not seem worried, however; she was used to her husband’s long, unexplained absences.
“If there was anything wrong, Lord Otori, we would hear of it soon enough. Affairs must be keeping him in Hofu—probably something he does not want to commit to paper.”
She glanced at Takeo and said, “I’ve heard about the woman, of course, but I expect that sort of thing. All men have their needs, and he is away for a long time. It isn’t anything serious. It never is with my husband.”
His unease increased, if anything, and was compounded when he asked after the execution of the hostages, only to be told that they were still alive.
“But I wrote weeks ago, ordering it to be done immediately.”
“I am very sorry, Lord Otori; we did not receive—” Sonoda began, but Takeo cut him off.
“Did not receive, or chose to ignore?” He realized he spoke more bluntly than he should. Sonoda struggled to hide his own offended reaction.
“I can assure you,” he said, “if we had received the order, we would have acted on it. I had been wondering why it had been delayed for so long. I would have had it done myself, but my wife has been in favor of mercy.”
“They seem so young,” Ai said. “And the girl…”
“I had hoped to spare their lives,” Takeo replied. “If their family was prepared to negotiate with us, they would not have to die. But they have made no gesture, sent no word. To delay any longer must seem like weakness.”
“I will arrange for it tomorrow,” Sonoda assured him.
“Yes, it must be so,” Ai agreed. “Will you attend?”
“Since I am here, I must,” Takeo replied, for he himself had made the ruling that executions for treason had to be witnessed by someone of the highest rank, himself or one of his family or senior retainers. He felt it emphasized the legal distinction between execution and assassination, and since he found such scenes sickening, he hoped witnessing them would keep him from ordering them indiscriminately.
It was done the next day, with the sword. When they were brought into his presence, before their eyes were blindfolded he told them their father, Gosaburo, was dead, executed by the Kikuta, presumably because he had wanted to negotiate for their lives. Neither of them made any response; probably they did not believe him. There was a sudden glint of tears in the girl’s eyes; otherwise both young people faced death bravely, even defiantly. He admired their courage and regretted their wasted lives, reflecting with sorrow that they were related to him by blood—both, he could not help noticing, bore the straight line of the Kikuta on their palms—and that he had known them when they were children.
The decision had been made jointly with Kaede, and on the advice of his senior retainers. It was in accordance with the law. Yet he wished it could have been otherwise, and the deaths seemed indeed like a bad omen.
34
Throughout the winter, Hana and Zenko met often with Kuroda Yasu to discuss the further opening up of trade with the foreigners, and they were pleased when Yasu reported the return of Don João and Don Carlo to Hofu at the end of the fourth month. They were less pleased with the news that Terada Fumio had brought the Otori fleet into the inland sea and now controlled the waterways.
“The foreigners’ ships, they boast, are far better than ours,” Yasu said. “If we could only call on them!”
“If they had some inducement to side with us against Takeo…” Hana said, thinking out loud.
“They want trade, and they seek conversions to their religion. Offer them either—or both. They will give you anything you want in return.”
This comment stayed in Hana’s mind as she made preparations for her own journey to Hagi. When she thought of confronting her sister with her secret, she felt both excitement and trepidation, a kind of destructive glee. But she did not underestimate Takeo, as her husband was inclined to. She recognized the strength and attraction of his character that had always won him the love of the people and loyal supporters in all walks of life. It was quite possible he would win the Emperor’s favor also, and return with the protection of his blessing. So she had pondered through the winter on further strategies to underpin her husband’s struggle for revenge and power, and when she heard that the foreigners had returned with their interpreter she determined to go to Hagi by way of Hofu.
“You should come with us,” she said to Akio, for he also had been a frequent visitor to the castle during the winter, reporting on news from the rest of the country, and on the progress Hisao and Koji were making in forging. Hana’s blood always quickened in his presence. She found his pragmatic ruthlessness attractive.
He looked at her now in his usual calculating way. “Yes, I don’t mind. I’ll bring Hisao, of course.”
For once, they were alone together. It was still cold—it had been a late and fickle spring—but the air held the scent of blossom and new growth and the evenings were lighter. Akio had come to see Zenko, who had taken out men and horses on some training exercise. He had seemed reluctant to stay, but Hana had pressed him, offering him wine and food, serving him herself, cajoling and flattering him, making it impossible for him to refuse.
She had thought him impervious to flattery, but she could see that her attentions pleased and in some way softened him. She wondered what it would be like to sleep with him; though she did not think she ever would, the idea excited her. She was wearing an ivory-colored silk robe, decorated with pink and red cherry blossoms and cranes: it was the sort of flamboyant pattern that she loved. Really it was too cold for such a garment, and her skin felt icy, but it was already the fourth month, and the idea that she was heralding spring pleased her—she was still young, her blood rising with the same impulse that pushed the shoots from the earth, the bud from the twig. Full of confidence in her own beauty, she dared to question him, as she had longed to all winter, about the boy who passed as his son.
“He does not resemble his father in the least,” she remarked. “Is he like his mother?”
When Akio did not reply immediately, she pressed him. “You should tell me everything. The more I can disclose to my sister, the stronger the effect will be on her.”
“It’s all a long time ago,” he said.
“Yet do not pretend you have forgotten it! I know how jealousy carves its story with a knife in our hearts.”
“His mother was an unusual woman,” he began slowly. “When it was suggested that she sleep with Takeo—it was when the Tribe first got their hands on him and no one trusted him; none of us thought he would stay—I was almost afraid of telling her. To ask Yuki to do such a thing—it was common enough in the Tribe, and most women did what they were told, but it seemed like an insult to Yuki. When she agreed, I realized at once that she wanted him. I had to watch her seduce him—not once but many times. I had not realized I would feel such pain, or such hatred for him. I had never really hated anyone before; I killed because it was expedient, not out of personal emotion. He had what I most wanted, and he threw it away. He left the Tribe. If he ever feels the smallest part of what I felt, it will be only justice.”
He glanced up at Hana. “I never slept with her,” he said. “I regret that more than anything. If I had been able to, just once…. But I would not touch her while she was carrying his child. And then I made her kill herself. I had to—she never stopped loving him; she would never have brought the boy up to hate him in the way I have. I knew he must be part of my revenge, but as he grew, showing no sign of any talents, I could not see how. For a long time I thought it was hopeless—time and again, far more skillful assassins than Hisao failed. Now I know Hisao will be the one. And I will be there to witness it.” He stopped abruptly.
The words had poured from him. He has kept this bottled inside him for all these years, Hana thought, chilled by all he said, yet flattered and excited that he confided in her.
“When Takeo returns from the East, Kaede will have been informed of all this,” she said. “It will drive them apart. She will never forgive him. I know him—he will flee from her and from the world; he will seek refuge in Terayama. The temple is barely guarded. No one will be expecting you. You can surprise him there.”
Akio’s eyes were half closed. His breath came in a deep sigh. “It is the only thing that will assuage my pain.”
Hana was seized by the desire to draw him to her, to ease some of the pain. She was sure she could console him for the death—she hesitated to name it murder—of his wife. Yet she prudently decided to save this pleasure for the future. She had something else that she wanted to discuss with Akio.
“Hisao has succeeded in forging a weapon small enough to be carried concealed?” she said. “No one will get close enough to Takeo to kill him with the sword, but the firearm can be used from some distance, isn’t that right?”
Akio nodded and spoke more calmly, as if relieved to change subjects. “He has tried it out on the seashore. It has a longer range than a bow, and the bullet is much faster than an arrow.” He paused for a moment. “Your husband is particularly interested in the use of this weapon, because of the way his father died. He wants Takeo to die as shamefully.”
“It has a certain justice about it,” Hana agreed. “Quite pleasing. But to be completely certain of success, surely you will give Hisao some rehearsal? I would suggest a trial run to assume everything works, that he does not lose his nerve, that his aim is true under stress.”
“Does Lady Arai have anyone in mind?” Akio looked directly at her, and as their eyes met her heart jumped with excitement.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” she said quietly. “Come a little closer and I will whisper his name.”
“There’s no need,” he replied. “I can guess.”
But he moved closer anyway, so close she could smell his breath and hear his heartbeat. Neither of them spoke or moved. The wind rattled the screens, and from the port came the cries of gulls.
After a few moments she heard Zenko’s voice from the courtyard.
“My husband is back,” she said, rising to her feet, not sure if she was relieved or disappointed.
LORD AND LADY Arai moved frequently between Kumamoto and Hofu; their arrival in the port city shortly after the foreigners’ return was therefore no cause for surprise. The ship the foreigners came in had left almost at once for Akashi with Lady Maruyama Shigeko, Sugita Hiroshi, and the fabled kirin, which was farewelled with pride and sorrow by the people of Hofu, who had taken a proprietorial interest in it ever since its first astonishing arrival in their port. Terada Fumio set sail shortly after, to join his father, Fumifusa, off the cape, along with the Otori fleet.
The foreigners had often been guests at Lord Arai’s residence; the fact that they were invited again immediately seemed unremarkable. Conversation flowed more easily, for the interpreter had grown bolder and more confident, and Don Carlo had become quite fluent.
Hana smiled. “Lord Kono, who has recently returned to the capital himself, and whom you have met here, I believe, is related to the imperial family, and assures us Lord Arai enjoys the Emperor’s favor. Unfortunately, Lord Otori’s assumption of the leadership of the Three Countries could be considered unlawful, which is why he has gone to plead his case.”
Don João in particular looked interested when this was translated. “Then perhaps Lord Arai can help us approach His Imperial Majesty?”
“It will be my great pleasure,” Zenko replied, flushed with anticipation as much as with wine.
The woman, their interpreter, translated this, and then said several more sentences. Don Carlo smiled somewhat sorrowfully, Hana thought, and nodded his head two or three times.
“What did you say?” she questioned Madaren directly.
“Forgive me, Lady Arai. I spoke of a religious matter to Don Carlo.”
“Tell us more. My husband and I are interested in the ways of the foreigners, and open to their beliefs.”
“Unlike Lord Otori, alas,” Don Carlo said. “I had thought he would be sympathetic, and I held great hopes for the salvation of his beautiful wife, but he has forbidden us to preach openly or to build a church.”
“We would be interested in hearing about these things,” Hana said politely. “And in return would like to know how many ships your king now has in the Southern Isles, and how long it would take to sail here from there.”
“You have some new scheme,” Zenko said that night when they were alone.
“I know a little about the foreigners’ beliefs. The reason why the Hidden have always been hated is because they obey the Secret God rather than any worldly authority. The foreigners’ Deus is the same, demanding total allegiance.”