Cloud of Sparrows (31 page)

Sohaku smiled. “Unfortunately, though we will try to preserve his life, Lord Genji will be killed in the confusion. We will bear his honored ashes back to Cloud of Sparrows for interment.”

“Shortly thereafter,” Kawakami said, “the Shogun will announce the raising of your house to the lordship of Akaoka. Lord Kudo, as your most valued retainer, will have his lands and stipend adjusted appropriately.”

“Thank you, Lord Kawakami.” This time, when they exchanged bows, Sohaku and Kudo inclined their torsos more deeply than their host.

Kawakami said, “My forces will move down the coastal road at top speed. Lord Genji will likely try to slip through to the Inland Sea somewhere west of Kobe. I will be waiting for him.”

“Only if he evades the main body of our cavalry,” Sohaku said. “I will intercept him in the mountains at Yamanaka Village. Before he left for his crane viewing, he said he would try to join us there.”

Kudo said, “I will trail Lord Genji with twenty of our best marksmen. We will do our best to eliminate Lord Shigeru with sniper fire before he leaves the mountains.”

Kawakami raised his cup. “May the gods favor those who truly possess virtue.”

Seasick though they were, Taro and Shimoda pulled resolutely at their oars. If they were not plummeting down the sheer faces of oceanic cliffs, they were looking up at massive watery avalanches. Or so it seemed to them. If their tiny boat was inundated, as appeared likely at any moment, they were surely doomed. Land was nowhere in sight.

Not that they could see it even if it were. They were already nearly blind from the ceaseless ocean spray.

Taro leaned close to Shimoda. “Which way is Akaoka?”

“What?” Shimoda strained to hear him over the perpetual thunder of collapsing waves.

“Are we going in the right direction?”

“I don’t know. You think he does?”

Saiki, at the helm, was the picture of confidence.

“I hope so.”

“The gods of weather, oceans, and storms favor us,” Saiki said. A wave crashed over the boat, soaking them all despite the oilcloths they wore over their clothing. Saiki bailed with one hand and controlled the rudder with the other. From time to time, he adjusted the angle of the sail.

Taro—wet, cold, nauseated—couldn’t stop shivering. “Then the gods have a strange way of bestowing their blessings. We seem to be in grave danger.”

“The opposite is true,” Saiki said. “We are invisible in such heavy seas. The Shogun’s patrols will never find us.”

Saiki had grown up on the water. In the carefree days of his youth, when he was a low-ranking samurai without special responsibilities, he spent many happy hours in the wild waters off Cape Muroto, hunting whale with the fishermen who had been his childhood playmates. As the giant animals passed the cape, the fishermen would row their longboats alongside one, leap on its back, and drive a spear straight into its brain. If their aim was true, the whale was theirs. If not, they were the whale’s. The spearman would fall into the ocean to drown while the boat, bound to the wounded whale by spear and line, was towed to sea. Usually fishermen were able to cut the line and return home. Sometimes they were never seen again.

“Row harder,” Saiki said. “Maintain this angle to the waves.”

With luck and a continuing east wind of bearable velocity, they would reach Akaoka in three days. Five hundred men would be ready to ride immediately. In two weeks, the entire army would be poised for war. Saiki hoped Lord Genji survived that long.

Another huge wave smashed into the boat.

Saiki turned his full attention to the sea.

Our blade is curved, not straight. Why? It is because in a cavalry charge, a curved blade is more efficient than a straight one. Let this curvilinear aspect remind you that a samurai is first and foremost a mounted warrior. Even afoot, comport yourself as though you are astride an angry warhorse.

Make these two truths part of your being. Then your lives will be worth living, and your deaths will not fail to be honorable.

Hiromitsu, Great Lord of Yamakawa, nodded happily. “Well, let us begin.” He took the chief judge’s seat in the tent on the east. His chamberlain took the second seat on the west, his cavalry commander the seat on the north, and his infantry commander the last seat, on the south.

It was the tradition in Yamakawa Domain for the lord, his senior retainers, and his best swordsmen to leave the castle at the beginning of each New Year and encamp in the nearby woods for a day and a night and the following day, there to hold an
iaido
tournament. The presence of women and children was not permitted. This rule had been established in ancient times to spare the families of the samurai who took part unnecessary anguish. In those days, each contest involved real katana with real blades. Though the strike was supposed to stop just short of actual contact, excitement, old grudges, the value of the prize that went to the winner, and the simple wish to excel in the presence of their liege not infrequently led to bloodshed, maiming, and even death.

Of course, katana were no longer used. They had been replaced long ago by shinai, mock swords of split and bound bamboo. Two hundred and fifty years of peace had taken its toll on the fighting spirit. That was one way to look at it. The other, which was Hiromitsu’s way, was to see it as keeping what was of value and discarding what was not.

Thirty-two samurai would take part in the matches, which were arranged as single eliminations. The winner would progress to the next set of matches; the loser was out. So sixteen men would go to the second round, eight to the third, and four to the fourth, before the final two met to determine the champion, and the winner of the finest three-year-old warhorse in the domain.

Hiromitsu was about to signal the beginning of the tournament when one of his sentries came running.

“My lord,” the man said, gasping for breath, “Lord Genji and his party ask permission to pass.”

“Lord Genji? Isn’t he in residence in Edo this year?”

“Apparently, not anymore.”

“Guide him forward. He is most welcome, as always.” Genji had the Shogun’s permission to leave Edo, or he did not. If the latter was true, it would be better for Hiromitsu not to know, so he would not ask. There was no question of refusing to see Genji, however, or denying him the right of passage. They were allies of long standing. Not that they knew each other personally. They did not. Their ancestors had fought together at Sekigahara. Or at least, Hiromitsu’s paternal ancestors had been on the losing side. His maternal relatives had stood with the winners, the most prominent of whom were the ancestors of the present Shogun. He was therefore also an ally of the Tokugawas, technically speaking. This was the perfect situation for the mild and unambitious Great Lord of Yamakawa. His clan’s history required him to show the utmost respect and hospitality to both sides, and at the same time gave him a reason to refrain from actively participating on behalf of either in the event of civil war, which seemed more imminent with every passing day. Fortunately, his fief was small, produced no significant quantity of vital resources, was situated well outside the likely fields of battle, and controlled no important routes. His neutrality would therefore offend no one.

A broad smile on his face, Hiromitsu politely walked forward to greet his guests as they arrived. Many things surprised him about the travelers. There were only six of them, for one thing. An exceedingly small group to accompany a Great Lord so far from home. Second, only three of them were samurai. Two were outsiders, a man and a woman, both of the usual grotesque appearance. They were far beyond the usual limited sphere in which they were permitted free movement, and would have had most of his attention if it were not for the final member of the group. She was a woman whose beauty was so astonishing, Hiromitsu mistrusted his eyes. Surely such perfection was not possible.

“Welcome, Lord Genji.” Though he did not know the Great Lord of Akaoka on sight, it was easy to know which man to address. He was the one flanked by the two samurai, one of whom was Shigeru. Hiromitsu had recently received a report, now obviously erroneous, that the famed duelist had been killed by his own clansmen under scandalous circumstances. “Welcome to you also, Lord Shigeru. You arrive at an auspicious moment. We are about to begin our annual New Year’s iaido tournament.”

“I regret our intrusion,” Genji said. “We will make it brief by continuing immediately on our way.”

“Oh, no, please. Now that you are here, stay and observe. My men are not of the level of your renowned warriors. They do their best, however, which is all anyone may be asked to do.”

Genji said, “Thank you, Lord Hiromitsu. We will gratefully accept your hospitality.”

Shigeru said, “That may not be prudent.”

“We are far ahead,” Genji said. “Some among us would benefit from a rest.” He turned to the woman behind him. She bowed deeply. “This is Lady Mayonaka no Heiko.”

“I am honored to meet you, Lady Heiko.” During the past year, her name had been on the lips of everyone who had traveled to Edo. The descriptions he had heard fell far short of the reality. “Your fame has reached even this remote place.”

“A completely undeserved fame, my lord.”

Her voice suggested the resonance of the finest chimes. He stared at her speechlessly for a moment or two longer than was appropriate before he realized his mouth was actually open. Embarrassed, he turned to his chamberlain and saw that he was similarly awe-stricken.

“The outsider gentleman is Matthew Stark. The lady is Emily Gibson. They have come to help in the building of the mission house adjoining Mushindo Monastery.”

Hiromitsu bowed politely to the outsiders. “Welcome. Prepare places for our guests,” he said to the chamberlain.

“Yes, my lord. For the outsiders, too?”

“For all members of Lord Genji’s party.”

“My lord, what of our rule regarding the presence of women?”

“Suspended,” Hiromitsu said, assisting Heiko from her saddle. “Lord Genji, please take my place as the judge on the east. Lord Shigeru will replace the chamberlain as the judge on the west.”

“Your suggestion is very gracious, Lord Hiromitsu,” Genji said. “But we would prefer to observe free of responsibility. I understand betting is also a part of this tradition.”

Hiromitsu laughed heartily. “Excellent, most excellent. But you are at a disadvantage. You don’t know anything about the abilities of any of my men, so would not know whom to favor.” His already happy mood was elevated further by Heiko’s presence. She had taken the sake from his adjutant and was now pouring for him. The elegance of her posture alone would have made water intoxicating.

“I thought to wager on one of our company,” Genji said, “if you will permit his participation. I believe it would be highly entertaining.”

Hiromitsu’s jovial mood completely evaporated. “If Lord Shigeru is to take part, I will concede the contest before we begin. All thirty-two contestants together are not his equal.”

“My uncle has no tolerance for bamboo training tools,” Genji said. “I doubt he would agree to use them.”

“That is correct,” Shigeru said. “Only live blades cut through to the truth.”

“Lord Genji, I cannot allow this,” Hiromitsu said, freely permitting his horrified feelings to show on his face. “How can I begin the New Year by bringing corpses home to new widows and orphans?”

“You cannot,” Genji said, “nor would I suggest any such thing. Heaven would surely exact a harsh retribution on us all if we committed such an atrocity. I had in mind, not my uncle, but the outsider, Stark.”

“What? Surely you’re joking?”

“Not at all.”

“My men would consider that an insult of the most egregious kind, Lord Genji. They may not have the reputation of your samurai, but they are samurai nonetheless. How can I ask them to test their skill against such a person?”

“I would not suggest it unless I thought it worthy of a wager,” Genji said. “I will award one hundred ryo in gold to the man who defeats Stark. Furthermore, I will wager with you whatever you wish. I believe Stark will win the tournament.”

If Hiromitsu was shocked before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. Madness surely ran through the Okumichi line. What was he to do? He could hardly take advantage of an obvious lunatic. One hundred ryo was ten times the annual stipend of the average retainer. Yet to refuse would be to offend, and he was loath to do so, not with the grim, deadly, and equally insane Shigeru so close at hand. What a dilemma!

“If Stark fails to defeat everyone he faces, Lady Heiko will entertain you for a week the next time you are in Edo. At my expense. Is that agreeable with you, my lady?”

Heiko smiled at Hiromitsu, then looked demurely downward as she bowed. “To be paid to spend time with Lord Hiromitsu is a double reward.”

“Well, uh, well,” Hiromitsu said. A week with Heiko. It was too much to expect that any mutual affection would blossom, a kind of affection leading to more than casual friendship. It was too much to expect. But it was possible. “Please permit me to address my men. We can proceed only with their consent.”

“Of course. In the meantime, being an incurable optimist and expecting approval, I will prepare my champion. May I borrow a pair of shinai? And let me propose an additional incentive. Win or lose, every man who faces Stark will receive ten gold ryo.”

His eyes dancing with visions of himself and Heiko in Edo, Hiromitsu went to convince his men. Initially, they were reluctant to engage in such a ridiculous charade, even for a small fortune in gold ryo. What convinced them was Genji’s side bet with their lord.

“A week with Lady Heiko?”

“Yes,” Hiromitsu said. “One week in Edo with Lady Heiko.”

His loyal retainers bowed. “We cannot deny you such a prize, my lord, even at the cost of our own dignity.”

“Where there is loyalty, there is always dignity,” the grateful Hiromitsu said.

“My lord.” The sentry assigned to watch his guests reported in. “Lord Genji, Lord Shigeru, and the outsider went into a bamboo grove. To practice.”

A murmur of chuckles rose from Hiromitsu’s men. The sentry did not join them.

“The outsider is very fast,” the sentry said.

“He knows how to use a sword?”

“It appeared that Lord Genji was giving him his first instruction.”

“Iaido takes years to master,” the chamberlain said. “If Lord Genji thinks to teach an outsider the art in a few minutes, then he is surely the maddest of all the Okumichis.”

Hiromitsu said, “You say he was fast.”

“Not at first, my lord. But by his fifth draw, yes, he was fast. Very fast. And accurate, too.”

“Have you been drinking, Ichiro?” one of the men said. “How can anyone learn how to use a sword in five draws?”

“Silence,” Lord Hiromitsu said. “Were you close enough to hear their conversation?”

“Yes, my lord, but Lord Genji and the outsider spoke in English. I could only understand what he and Lord Shigeru said.”

“Which was?”

He followed the two mad lords and the outsider into a bamboo grove, matching his steps with theirs so his would be inaudible.

“I’m sure you have a reason for making us look like fools,” Shigeru said.

“Stark will win,” Genji said.

“Is that prophecy?”

Genji laughed and did not answer.

The outsider said something in his slurred, barbaric tongue. Genji replied in the same language. Only one word was in Japanese. Iaido. The outsider said something that sounded like a question. He, too, used the word “iaido.” Genji stopped five feet away from a single stalk of bamboo ten feet tall and four inches thick. Suddenly, his hand went to his sword, steel flashed, and the blade sliced cleanly through the bamboo. After a moment, the upper part of the stalk separated from the rooted trunk and fell to the ground.

“Lord Genji is surprisingly good,” the sentry said.

“So poetry, sake, and women have not occupied his entire attention all these years,” Hiromitsu said. “It was a ruse. His grandfather, Lord Kiyori, was a wily old man. He must have trained his grandson in secret.”

When the bamboo fell into the snow, Genji said something in the outsider’s language. The outsider asked another question. Shigeru’s name came up. Genji replied.

“What did he say?” Shigeru said.

“He asked why you cannot represent us in the tournament. I told him you do not play at fighting.”

Shigeru grunted. “Your strike was good. The stalk stood for a full heartbeat before falling.”

“When grandfather struck,” Genji said, “he cut so cleanly and so swiftly, the stalk stood for five heartbeats as if whole.”

The outsider spoke. Again he used one Japanese word, “iaido.” He seemed to be protesting. In answer, Genji stood before another bamboo stalk. His right hand went across his body to the left, where his sword was belted. The blade came out and slashed through the stalk. This time it stood for two heartbeats before falling. He turned to the outsider and spoke again. He made a strange movement with his right hand, as if pulling a much shorter blade.

“A gun and a sword are very different,” Shigeru said.