The Seabird of Sanematsu (28 page)

He swaggered into the barbarian’s tent. She sat cross-legged on the tatami, a piece of blank paper in her lap and a stick of charcoal in her hand.

She jumped to her bare feet and faced him. “How is Lord Sanematsu?”

“He finally sees you for the demon you are.” He laughed. “I am ordered to secure you in your tent.” He had to separate her from the daimyo and stop her influence. By confining her as if at Sanematsu’s order, he would plant seeds of doubt in the yabanjin’s mind. Who could question him? Sanematsu had no time now to say otherwise, and by the time he did, he would be unable to.

He stepped closer. “You know what I would do with you.”

“I would not, if I were you.” She straightened to her fullest height.

“I thought you enjoyed our time together in the stable.” He grasped the back of her head and pulled her to him. He crushed her breasts against his chest.

“Hamasaki!” she screamed, struggling in his grip.

“You shall be sorry,” he growled as he flung her away.

She landed hard on her side in the back of the tent. Her lungs strained as the fall knocked the wind out of her.

**
*

As he had every time she had called, Hamasaki rushed in. A bare sword in his hand, his dark eyes sought out the cause of her scream. Aderyn watched in horror as he spied Matsumoto.

“You have no business here,” Matsumoto growled.

“There is if Tori requires me.” Hamasaki held the sword in ready position.

“Our business is private. Leave.” Matsumoto’s weapon was still sheathed, but his hand was tight on the hilt.

“Tori, do you wish for me depart?” the young man questioned. For an instant, his attention was not on Matsumoto--and it cost him dearly.

Matsumoto drew his katana with a swift move, the steel cutting through the air in blazing speed. Aderyn’s intended answer to Hamasaki was replaced with a furious scream. The razor-edged blade met the firm flesh of her guard’s neck, moving through it as if slicing a piece of silk. As it exited the other side of Hamasaki’s body, the blade glinted in the sun’s ray piercing the tent’s roof.

Wobbling on his neck for what were for Aderyn agonizingly long seconds, the head at last toppled down his torso, a look of permanent surprise on the face. A fountain of crimson blood pulsed from the wound as his body crumpled to the ground and continued for several minutes, spewing his life over the mat flooring.

A fine mist of blood spurted toward Aderyn and coated her cheek, mingling with her tears. Her trembling hands rose to her mouth and clamped over her lips to stop her screaming.

“You are wise, barbarian,” Matsumoto said. “You do not wish to have the same fate befall your friend Uesugi as did your puppet Hamasaki. I should have known you would work a spell over him when I assigned him as your guard, but I did not know then what an evil temptress you truly are. Now for our business.” He moved toward her.

“No!”

Hysterical, Aderyn bolted for the door. Matsumoto grabbed her braid and jerked her back.

“We have not finished, barbarian.”

 
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The tight pull on her braid sent sharp pain through her scalp, the beat responding to the bounding of her heart. Aderyn did not care that tears rolled down her face and her nose ran in globs. She wanted to strike Matsumoto in the face, but she had not taken such leave of her senses--he would kill her just a quickly as he had Hamasaki, and she could not afford that. Sanematsu needed her too much.

She swallowed her shock and terror.

“When I tell Sanematsu-sama the truth about now and before, how will you defend yourself? Will you do the same as with Hamasaki? Are you so sure of your position?” The words spewed out of her without thought. “Sanematsu-sama is daimyo. His word is law, and no one would question any action he takes.”

“You are too fearless for your own good.”

She watched him gather his self-control then let her go.

“Sanematsu will not be able to muster the strength to attend to Amemiya’s surrender. Because of this, he will lose respect, and his power will diminish. If death does not overtake him, a mutiny will, and he will no longer be daimyo. You will then be mine for any pleasure…or pain…I wish to give you.”

He left at the same swiftness with which he had entered.

Aderyn sank to her knees--her legs failed to support her any longer, and every muscle in her body trembled. She could not take her eyes off the body of Hamasaki. The crumpled corpse lay on its left side in the middle of the tent. The head had rolled a few feet away, coming to rest on an ear, facing her, the dead accusing eyes staring. Was this to be the result of association with her? He had died because she called for him.

Oh, God! It was my fault!
She cried with loud, gulping sobs, but the tears were for Hamasaki Heishiro, not herself. She did not matter. Sanematsu lay near death, and the minute he exhaled his last breath her life would be over. Her blissful existence had become a nightmare.

She regained her composure and stood by when soldiers as evil-looking as Matsumoto came to remove Hamasaki’s corpse. Welcoming work to use her nervous energy, she cleaned up the evidence of the violence as best she could. Her mood shifted as she gathered the blood-soaked bedding and tatami and thrust it outside, and anger enveloped her. What had the Evil One told Sanematsu about her, and why had the daimyo believed him? If she could talk to him, help uncloud his mind, he would see Matsumoto had lied. She prayed she would still be alive when her chance came to correct Sanematsu’s thinking.

Finished with the gruesome task, Aderyn was left with her conscience. She tried to think of a way out of her predicament, unable to accept fate without putting up a fight.

First, she had to escape her prison. Her experiences with sneaking off her father’s ship or out of the house for a foray in Macao now came in handy. She walked to the front flap and lifted it. Two guards turned and began to bare their swords. She dropped the canvas and went to the back of the tent and pondered the hem. Kneeling, she raised the fabric inches above the ground and peered out. No one guarded the back. She slid under and away without making a sound. She hurried around the perimeter of the camp.

She listened and watched for pursuers, ever mindful that discovery of her escape would seal her fate. Pausing to look between tents at Sanematsu’s across the open space, she heard muffled voices from the one nearby. She listened closer when she heard his name and recognized it was Matsumoto who had spoken it.

“…get as near to him as you can. He is already gravely injured. Another wound will finish the job.”

“I am but a peasant girl, sire, here for your pleasure,” a woman whined. “How can I hope to get near our lord?”

“You will approach insisting you have a message from Lord Shigehide. I will see that no one hinders you,” Matsumoto commanded. “You have the acting ability to get his attention. And you know the consequences of failure.”

Aderyn blanched. She could picture him as he hissed into the prostitute’s face, almost feel and smell his breath.

“I will obey,” the trembling voice said.

“Good. Perhaps I will remember you when I am daimyo.”

She heard the whoosh of the tent flap as he left. After checking to be sure no one would see her, she slipped around the front and inside. Obviously, these were Matsumoto’s quarters--armor and weapons lay about everywhere.

The girl stood with her back to Aderyn, a translucent kosode giving hints to the thin young body beneath. The garment slipped off her shoulders to expose her back. Deep red welts crisscrossed the ivory skin beneath tangled clumps of loose raven hair. Observing this evidence of Matsumoto’s recent beating did not make it easy for Aderyn to hit her over the head with the first heavy object she found, but she had to stop Matsumoto’s plot.

She tried not to look at the ravaged face as she trussed the camp woman up with the belt of her kosode. Rage filled her as she arranged the girl comfortably and discreetly on the open futon. Matsumoto did not deserve to live, much less have this delicate flower in his bed.

Enough of such thoughts. She needed to tell Uesugi, her remaining ally, of the plot. Snatching a dagger from Matsumoto’s scattered arsenal, she crept toward the young samurai’s tent, a single-man canvas dwelling near Sanematsu’s, close enough to serve his master. Peering from behind a larger four-man tent, she saw two warriors standing watch. Back to her covert approach.

Once hidden behind the tent, Aderyn paused to listen. No sounds. With the dagger, she cut a peephole and placed her eye against it. Uesugi lay on his futon, his back to her. His armor sat nearby, but no weapons. She moved back to make the rent larger.

“Uesugi-sama,” she whispered, hoping he was not asleep. “Tada-sama, please answer me!”

Uesugi did not make a sound, but did roll over and come to a squatting position. Catching her eye, he placed his finger to his lips and tilted his head toward the front to indicate the presence of guards. He then duck-walked to her and crawled through the tear.

“Come.” He took hold of her arm to maneuver them away from the populated area.

Out of danger of being overheard, they exchanged stories of what Matsumoto had devised. Then Aderyn explained the assassination plot.

“Are you sure?” Uesugi’s voice cracked. Aderyn recognized his dread of having to face Matsumoto with such accusations. She wasn’t any more enthusiastic about it.

“Yes! Matsumoto plans to have Sanematsu-sama killed. I overheard him ordering the girl who…pillows with him to do so. He already killed Hamasaki, and he may be after Hikita. We must stop them!”

She struggled for composure, overwhelmed by a desire to break into hysterical tears. This was not the time to lose her resolve.

“What can we do? We are only two, and we do not know who is still loyal. Without Hamasaki, we have no allies. Matsumoto-sama has made alliances with many of the samurai within Sanematsu-sama’s army. They are only waiting his command to rise up. And we cannot know who they are.”

“I have an idea.”

While she searched for him, she had formulated a plan and now explained it in a rush of words. They snuck through the rear of the now-empty camp. In moments, they were back inside Matsumoto’s tent. The girl was still unconscious.

Aderyn found an uchiki, and Uesugi the makeup kit. He painted her face, taking pains to angle her eyes with the cosmetics.

“There.” He placed the jar of eye paint in the box. “Try to keep your eyes downcast, as a proper servant would, and you will pass.”

They exchanged wry smiles. Aderyn would have difficulty with that.

“I will dress, and we will be ready.” She began to disrobe.

Uesugi stepped to the exit. “I will be back in a moment.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get my costume. As you know, each clan has a different style, color or adornment on their armor. I cannot very well present myself in Uesugi armor. Sasaki Shigumi is on guard duty at the road. I can borrow his ancestral armor.”

“Ah,” she replied. Would there ever be a time when one sentence was not followed by another that taught her something?

Uesugi slipped away, and while he was gone, Aderyn became more indistinguishable. She covered her mass of brown locks with a black wig used by maids and prostitutes to achieve the court-style hairdo of ladies higher in the caste system. As she straightened her sash and secreted the knife away, she turned at the noise of someone entering the tent.

“Oh!” Her hand went to her mouth. A fierce, helmeted samurai confronted her. His black-lacquered armor covered his body from head to knees. The blade of a bare sword flashed in his hand. Forgetting the hidden dagger, Aderyn gave the area a frantic search, seeking a weapon.

“Lady Tori, it is I, Uesugi.”

“Tadakuni-sama?” Aderyn stepped closer and pushed the helmet away from his face. “It
is
you!”

“Your escort is ready. No woman can travel alone. We cannot be late.”

“Nor can we fail.”

“We will not. Come, Lady Tori.” Uesugi bowed and ushered her out of the tent.

CHAPTER THIRTY

The masqueraders approached the edge of the crowd of retainers and servants who knelt before a pavilion that had been set up in the field.

“Lord Sanematsu is officially ending the conflict between himself and Amemiya-sama,” Uesugi explained as they covered the ground. “In his benevolent manner, he is allowing Amemiya-sama to commit seppuku. This is our ritual of honorable self-killing which allows a samurai to demonstrate his dedication to the way of the samurai. It is a great dishonor to be beheaded by one of Sanematsu-sama’s generals.”

“Some favor,” Aderyn mumbled. Uesugi’s mention of Sanematsu’s general brought Matsumoto’s sword skill to mind to unnerve her.

“Over two hundred of Amemiya-sama’s forces were executed after the last battle.” Uesugi continued. “Their deaths are considered dishonorable, and their families are disgraced.”

“Then Amemiya-sama should not be given the chance to die with honor.” Sanematsu’s kind gesture failed to impress her.

“Perhaps, but because they are equals, Sanematsu-sama must behave so.”

Moving through the crowd, they came nearer the dais. Sanematsu sat on a campstool beneath the canopy.

She had not been exposed to this aspect of him. “He looks so…elegant. Why is he wearing white?”

“He wears a white dobuku because that is our color of revenge. The over-mantle is called a jimbaori. It is a campaign jacket, and is blue to represent the Sanematsu clan. Beneath that is the kami-shimo. You will notice Amemiya-sama’s clothing is made of hemp and is light yellow in color. Do you remember seeing a wooden box near Sanematsu-sama’s sword rack? The one almost as long as he is with the kanji of his boy-name on it?”

“Yes.” Flat and wide, the box almost equaled the breadth of Sanematsu’s shoulders.

“It carries our master’s seppuku kami-shimo. A samurai would be considered without etiquette not to have his seppuku kami-shimo when his master may call for it. Mine is rolled behind my saddle. Our master can afford to have a burdensome box for his, as he has many servants.”

Aderyn had a clear view of Sanematsu as they drew nearer. The formal attitude of Lord Sanematsu Yoshihide of the clan Minamoto was very impressive. His fierce and regal bearing was without a trace of softness or a sign of pain. His hands were on his hips and his back was straight. His swords in their gold-and-silver ornamented wooden scabbards were stuck in his sash, along with the tasseled baton of a field commander. His hair was confined in its topknot, the sides and pate glistening with hairdressing oil. A large, impressive helmet with tall horns of beaten metal sat at his side on the tatami. Between the horns, the kamon of the Sanematsu clan was emblazoned for all to see--two hawk feathers crossed in the center of a wooden wheel.

Uesugi broke the silence as he and Aderyn entered the crowd.

“Make way!” He pushed through the masses, leading her toward Sanematsu. “Message from Nishikata! Make way!”

She followed on his heels and peeked at the people from the corners of downcast eyes. As loudly as her heart pounded, she was sure everyone could hear it. The crowd seemed to close in. Movement was difficult and slow. As she and Uesugi arrived at the edge of the dais, it was as if she had walked miles instead of feet.

She gasped for breath and steadied herself. Her heart jolted with terror as she saw Matsumoto blocking the steps.

“Who is the cause of this commotion?” He scrutinized Uesugi.

“Sasaki Shigumi,” he answered with bravado.

Aderyn chanced a look at Sanematsu as he watched Matsumoto and Uesugi exchange words. He gave no sign of recognition or infirmity. No one would see his weakness and pain save her, for she knew where to look. They had to succeed for his sake.

She glanced to the left. Amemiya sat on a reversed tatami covered with a blue cloth. A short sword rested on a shihou raised off the cloth in front of him--the sunlight glinting off the blade glared in her eyes. The man appeared to be fifty years old, with graying hair and a wrinkled face where no expression could be read. A short man, heavy with muscles from the occupation of war, his kami-shimo gaped open to expose an age-flaccid abdomen. A samurai stood behind him with a bare dai-katana. Aderyn averted her gaze from the long battle sword.

“Who sends this message?” Matsumoto demanded.

“Lady Haru,” Aderyn replied in a meek, accented voice. She prayed he would not recognize her voice. She was too far away for Sanematsu to overhear her. If they did not get him out of danger before he realized who she was, he would give her away and Matsumoto’s reaction would be violent.

“The message concerns Lord Sanematsu’s youngest daughter,” Uesugi added, raising his voice so Sanematsu would hear.

“Let them pass!” Sanematsu ordered, and Matsumoto moved aside.

Uesugi handed Sasaki’s swords over to Yaemon. After leading Aderyn up to the dais, he stepped out of the way, but kept an eye on her back and Matsumoto.

As she approached Sanematsu she was on her own. She rose after dropping to her knees and bowing low and extended the scroll to her master. Uesugi had inscribed the message explaining the danger moments before they embarked on this playacting. Her hands shook so that, after Sanematsu had taken the scroll, she clutched them on her lap.

**
*

Sanematsu unrolled the scroll and tried to read. The brushed characters became black smudges in his blurred vision. So weary he could not concentrate, the effort actually hurt. Something was wrong with his Chiyo, and he could not read what Haru had to tell him!

Protocol and the sun combined to drain his energy. A raging headache throbbed with every beat of his straining heart, the unevenness of that beat evident in his temples.

“I beg your pardon, my lord.”

The serving girl neared him. He looked at her, a faint sense of familiarity washing over his senses. Matsumoto shifted, his hand on his sword.

“I fear you may not be able to read the message,” she continued. By her odd accent he placed her as from a remote region of his province. “It was written in such haste. May I come closer to tell you what has happened?”

“Very well.” Sanematsu crumpled the scroll in his left hand.

The girl moved to place her lips near his ear.

**
*

A warm feeling moved through Aderyn as she inhaled his scent, and when, for a brief instant, her cheek touched his. Beneath the piquant aroma was another, one she remembered from the ship the day more than fifty people died. A small, dark stain soiled the white silk at his waist. Aderyn shuddered. Was it death she smelled?

“Please, Lord Yoshi, trust me.” She implored, using her true voice. “There is a plot to assassinate you. Uesugi-sama and I have come to take you to safety.”

“How do you--” Sanematsu began.

“There is no time to discuss it!” Aderyn whispered the harshest words of their language. Her time with Sanematsu had educated her a thousand-fold--her use of language was now close to flawless, and she struggled to save his life. If they did not move soon, Matsumoto would guess something was wrong and stop them. “Announce that you must return to Nishikata to see about Chiyo-sama. Matsumoto is to finish here.”

She left off the honorific on purpose, no longer able to give him respect. Leaning back on her heels, she looked up. A faint gleam of the bond she and Sanematsu shared reflected in his eyes.

**
*

Sanematsu Yoshihide inhaled as deeply as the wound would allow and recognized the familiar scent of his seabird. Her bath soaps and shampoo filled his being with reassurance and contentment. The skin of her cheek was soft and smooth as it brushed his.

A flood of desire to enfold her next to his bare skin filled him, and the erotic thought made his blood rush. His head swam with the intoxicating nearness of the one person he could rely on. She had risked her life to save him. How could he ever think of her as foreign when she fulfilled her giri with such pride and confidence?

Kneeling inches from him, her cosmetic-enhanced eyes imploring--there was no way she could ever disguise those green eyes that bored into his heart. Yet she looked so…so…Nihonese! Her voice, so strange and soft, filled him with strength and desire. He needed her at his side, wanted her near him for more than just lying in his bed. As no other, he could trust her and would put himself into her hands.

He almost smiled, but that would not do. An assassin was bent on killing him. Was that not always the case? Someone always plotted to take his life and what he owned.

The crowd watched and waited.

“Lord Amemiya,” Sanematsu faced his defeated enemy. “I have been informed my youngest daughter lies near death. I shall return to Nishikata at once.” He motioned his guards to move up. They obeyed and formed a wall behind their lord. “Matsumoto-sama…” Sanematsu faced his general. “…carry on. Then dismantle camp and prepare to return home with my men.”

Using all his strength, he rose nobly. Tori stood to allow him to step in front of her on their way down the platform; he could tell she fought her instinct to take his arm to provide support. At great cost, he managed to keep his warrior’s countenance.

Uesugi regained his swords and led the way, while Tori trailed behind Sanematsu. He lagged, and she came forward, shielding the ever-widening crimson stain from view.

“Let me stand close at your side so you might lean on me. They will think it is your grief that afflicts you,” she suggested to keep anyone from discovering his deterioration, but he did not avail himself of her support.

**
*

Their pace was too slow and laborious. Not sure of the loyalties of the warriors who accompanied them, Aderyn wanted to get Sanematsu into safety. The smell of death was more prevalent.

His strength held until he arrived at his tent. The guards positioned themselves at the entryway. Only when they entered and the flap was closed did he sag onto her shoulder.

Uesugi aided her in guiding their master to his futon, easing Sanematsu onto his back. Then he went for the healers. Sanematsu was safe from the world, if not from his wound.

Aderyn remained and removed the ornaments of state. She placed the saihai in its case then put Sanematsu’s long and short swords on the rack in the corner, adding the requisite bow of respect to the blades.

“If there is a plot against me…” Sanematsu spoke low and with effort. “…I had best have my katana nearby.”

Aderyn lifted the heavy long sword with two hands, and realized that should he be attacked, he could never draw the blade. She grasped the hilt in her left hand and the scabbard in her right and tugged.

The warriors made drawing their swords look easier than it was. Once eased free, it slid out little by little. Lights playing on the razor edge displayed the intricate etching on the blade. A katana was never drawn without cause and never returned to its home without tasting blood. Aderyn prayed this time would be an exception as she put the weapon at Sanematsu’s side.

“I have a pounding headache,” he admitted.

“Maybe this will help.” Aderyn undid his tight topknot, combing the hair down to his shoulders with her fingers.

“You seem to enjoy that.” His lips fashioned a soft curve.

“I confess I do.” She caressed the dark hair “Why do you confine it all the time?”

“It is a custom. All samurai wear the topknot as the traditional symbol of their warrior class. When I was eight, my hair was first fashioned into the topknot of the bushi. The priest bundled and yanked the long hair my mother had so meticulously cultivated so as to hold it aloft and pulled away from the scalp. This allowed the sword’s blade to cut off the excess that escaped from his fist. The pain remained as another holy man applied a tight black cord to the base near the crown and pulled it tight.”

He rested for long seconds before he spoke more.

“It was left disarrayed, hanging down like a horse’s tail, until I become samurai. When I was fifteen, my gempuku was held. That is our ceremony establishing a boy into manhood, performed when the boy is the proper height. I had attained it at eleven. The hair is cut, and the oil and lacquer are applied to train the hair to lie forward over the crown onto the brow.

“To ease the heat and sweat caused by the heavy helmet worn during battle, most warriors shaved the middle part. Between battles, they allowed it to grow back, but I never wear the sakayaki.”

“I wish you would refrain from teaching. Save you strength.” She stroked the loose tendrils. “I might as well make you more comfortable.” Lifting the over-mantle off, she untied the sash holding his osode closed. The effort was torture for him, and she could see why. The binding cloth was soaked, vivid with red blood.