“He is only bruised, and will recover after a day in bed,” Zenta told the others. “But if the rest of you insist on doing something rash, I may be forced to kill.”
Father Luis looked worriedly at the menacing circle of samurai who had drawn their swords and were surrounding Zenta. “Shouldn’t we send for help?” he asked Pedro. “Yes, there is no time to be lost,” said Pedro. “Let’s send one of our men to Nobunaga. He will save us.”
Since they spoke in Portuguese, Matsuzo didn’t understand them but the young ronin must have caught Nobunaga’s name. “No, we can’t ask Nobunaga for help,” he said. “He wouldn’t take sides in this affair. His power is not completely established, and some of the uncommitted feudal lords might use Lord Fujikawa’s death as a cause for uniting against him.”
“What shall we do then?” asked Pedro. “Even if we hold these men in check for the time being, other people in the city can be stirred up against us.”
“We know that,” said Matsuzo. “That’s why Zenta has sent one of your men to the shogun as soon as news of the murder reached us.”
“The shogun!” said Pedro, surprised. “But he is only a figurehead. He can’t do anything.” “In this case he is our best hope. If we succeed in convincing him of your innocence, his judgment will be accepted by these men, because he was Lord Fujikawa’s friend.” Meanwhile the men were growing bolder.
One of them suddenly cried, “I recognize this man! He was the ronin who cut off Kotaro’s topknot. Well, that sort of carnival trick is useless in a real fight.” With that he charged.
Ducking the slashing attack, Zenta swept his sword up and around to include another attacker who was trying to reach him from the other side. This time he drew blood. The first attacker dropped his sword and staggered back, his sleeve stained crimson.
Pedro drew his rapier with a hiss. “There are too many attackers. We must help Zenta.” “No!” said Matsuzo, holding him back. “We will join the fight when it becomes necessary, but right now we will only spoil his timing.”
Pedro lowered his rapier and watched the skirmish with great interest. He could see that it was very different from combats with European weapons where there was a constant clash of swords as opponents tried to break through each other’s guard. During this fight, however, there were long periods when Zenta and his opponents stood completely disengaged. Then there would be a sharp burst of furious activity, followed by another period of immobility, as the combatants planned their next move.
It was obvious that Lord Fujikawa’s men were beginning to know their opponent’s caliber, for there were longer pauses between attacks as they became more cautious. They also stopped trying to attack him singly. Instead, groups of two or more of them tried to catch each other’s eye and launch simultaneous attacks.
For his part Zenta was watching for telltale signs, such as a flicker of the eyes, a deepened breathing or a sliding of feet, in order to predict which of the men would be the ones to make the rush.
Pedro now understood why Matsuzo had told him not to interfere. Zenta could time his moves to meet attacks from several directions at once, but it was essential not to disturb his concentration.
All at once four of the men rushed in to attack together, and Matsuzo finally whipped out his sword and jumped forward. But he immediately retreated again. Zenta had kicked sharply at the round beam which had been used as a battering ram, setting it rolling towards two of the enemy. One of the men succeeded in jumping clear, but the other man had his legs struck from under him. He fell heavily on his face just as one of his comrades behind him chose this unfortunate moment to launch an attack. What followed was a rather confused scramble. Before the beam rolled to a stop, a number of people tripped over people who tripped over those who tripped over the beam.
A chuckle came from Father Luis, and Pedro sheathed his rapier. He could see that things were going well.
Lord Fujikawa’s men eventually pulled themselves together, but before they could resume the offensive, the broken front gate squeaked on its crooked hinges and an orderly file of samurai entered the courtyard. They were escorting a sedan chair.
The chair was set down on the ground, and from it emerged a gentleman in formal dress. He surveyed the disorder around him with a look of mild surprise. “Oh, my,” he said in a high, affected voice. “What have we here?”
Chapter 8
“Hambei,” said Nobunaga, “I am concerned about the safety of the Portuguese. Lord Fujikawa’s men may break in and slaughter the whole household to avenge their master’s death.”
“Zenta and his assistant can hold them off,” said Hambei. “Besides, the foreigner still has two of his guns. They are not in immediate danger of being massacred.”
“But what if Zenta or the Portuguese killed some of the Fujikawa men?” asked Nobunaga. “That would look bad and inflame the people’s hatred of foreigners.”
“It won’t come to that,” said Hambei. “Chiyo told me that Zenta has sent to the shogun for help. It should be arriving very soon.”
“The shogun!” exclaimed Nobunaga.
“Yes,” said Hambei. “Lord Fujikawa’s men can’t accuse the shogun of being partial to the Portuguese.”
After a moment Nobunaga nodded approval and smiled. “That’s a clever move on Zenta’s part. I’m looking forward to having him in my service.”
The elegant figure who stepped out of the sedan chair in front of the house of the Portuguese looked incongruous. Zenta thought at first that he was a nobleman of the imperial court who had blundered into the courtyard by mistake.
The man identified himself. “I am Mitani Kagemasa, and I have been dispatched by the shogun to investigate Lord Fujikawa’s murder.”
“You are from the shogun?” cried one of Lord Fujikawa’s men. “Now we shall see some justice! Did Lady Yuki send for you?”
Kagemasa fussily arranged his wide sleeves before replying. “No, the message was not from Lady Yuki. We received news of Lord Fujikawa’s murder from the Portuguese.”
While the Fujikawa samurai murmured their surprise, Pedro turned to Father Luis and explained the newcomer’s identity. The priest nodded. He walked forward to Kagemasa, bowed gravely and spoke in his calm, deep voice.
Pedro translated. “Father Luis says that we are greatly relieved by your arrival. Since the shogun must want the real murderer of Lord Fujikawa to be found, we know that we can expect you to listen impartially to logic and accept only true evidence.”
In spite of their bizarre appearance, the two Portuguese bore themselves with dignity. Zenta felt a touch of pride in being their bodyguard.
Kagemasa mounted to the front veranda of the house and seated himself on a cushion brought out by a maid. His manner became more brisk and less like that of a luxury-loving court dandy. “Gentlemen, you will surrender your weapons to my men,” he commanded. “Now let us hear the evidence.”
Except for the two Portuguese, who were not expected to understand proper behavior, the rest of the men went down on their knees in the courtyard and waited with lowered heads for their turn to speak. At a gesture from Kagemasa, one of Lord Fujikawa’s samurai began.
“This morning, one of the maid servants noticed that our master’s door on the garden side was open. She considered this strange because it had been raining hard last night. She looked into the room, and to her horror, she saw our master lying dead in a pool of blood. We rushed into the room when we heard her screams and found our master with a ghastly wound in the middle of his chest. It was a huge, ragged hole that could not have been made by a normal weapon. We knew then that he had been killed by the foreigners’ devilish weapon.”
“I have seen a demonstration of this weapon,” said Kagemasa. “A gun, I believe it is called. It makes a very loud sound when fired. Why did no one hear the shooting?”
Zenta looked at Kagemasa with interest. For all his foppish airs and affected speech, the shogun’s deputy was no fool.
“We wondered about
this also,” replied the samurai. “We presume that the shooting took place during the thunderstorm last night, and we must have mistaken the sound of the shot for a clap of thunder.”
Zenta had come to the same conclusion. He realized that the shot must have coincided with the clap that had sounded a little strange at the time.
Kagemasa digested the information in silence for a few minutes. He finally turned to Pedro and said, “You may speak.”
The Portuguese had himself well under control. When he spoke, his intonation of Japanese was a little worse than usual, but he remembered to avoid using feminine forms of speech. “I had three guns in my possession, but one of them was stolen yesterday. I believe that the murderer stole my gun and used it to kill Lord Fujikawa in order to have the suspicion fall on me.”
“I have only your statement that the gun was stolen,” said Kagemasa. “Since the murder took place last night and was not discovered until this morning, you would have had plenty of time to get rid of the murder weapon.”
There was a stir among Lord Fujikawa’s men and several of them raised their heads to exchange triumphant looks. They evidently thought that the investigation was going very well.
Zenta looked anxiously at Pedro. In spite of having to use an unfamiliar tongue to address a largely hostile audience, the Portuguese looked calm and collected. Zenta felt a flash of admiration for him.
Before Pedro could speak again, the silence of the courtyard was broken by the sound of excited voices coming from the back of the house. “I thought all the staff was assembled here,” said Kagemasa, looking annoyed. He turned to one of his men. “Go and see who is making the disturbance.”
The man soon returned and made his report. “Some of Lord Fujikawa’s serving women have discovered that a portion of the fence in their garden was unfastened. They found footprints in the gap leading to the foreigners’ garden.”
“That’s the proof you need, my lord!” shouted one of the Fujikawa samurai. “The Portuguese made these prints when he returned after committing the murder!”
Zenta cursed himself for not having checked the fence. He should have thought of it as soon as the murder was discovered. But the mention of footprints gave him an idea of how to prove Pedro’s innocence. He raised his head and caught Kagemasa’s eye. “May I have permission to speak?” he asked. At Kagemasa’s nod, he said, “I should like to inspect the footprints near the fence. On past occasions I have found that footprints can reveal a great deal about the person who made them.”
“What can we possibly learn from footprints?” said one of the Fujikawa samurai. “This man is simply trying to delay justice!”
Kagemasa looked thoughtfully at Zenta. “I should like to examine those footprints. I am curious myself to see what you can learn from them.”
He pointed out two of the Fujikawa men who had been the loudest in denouncing the Portuguese. “You shall come with us. Then you can have no cause to say that the evidence has been tampered with.”
Leaving his men to keep order in the courtyard, Kagemasa and the two Fujikawa samurai followed Pedro and Zenta to the garden at the back of the house. The section of the fence used by Chiyo and Maria for passing back and forth was unfastened and propped against a bush.
The rain had washed away most of the footprints made on the wet, muddy ground, but near the fence, the camellia bushes grew thickly enough to provide a good cover. There were several distinct prints made by bare feet, and all of them pointed towards the house of the Portuguese.
Zenta stooped down and inspected the clearest of the prints. What he saw gave him satisfaction. “There is no doubt about it. The Portuguese did not make these prints,” he said, rising.
Kagemasa languidly waved an exquisitely painted fan, but his eyes were shrewd and alert. “Explain,” he ordered.
Turning to Pedro, Zenta said, “Take off your shoes and walk a few steps. No, over here, on the soft ground.”
Looking a little self-conscious, Pedro sat down on a rock and pulled off his heavy leather boots. Then with the eyes of everyone on him, he gingerly took a few steps. The soft earth oozing through his toes made him grimace. (He later explained that only the poorest peasants in his country walked barefoot.)
Pointing to the fresh prints made by Pedro, Zenta said, “The foreigners wear a different kind of shoe from ours. Their footgear does not have a strap that comes between the big toe and the other toes. Look at the prints just made: the big toe and the second one are close together. But in the prints made earlier, the big toe is widely separated from the rest. These earlier prints were made by one of our countrymen.”
In silence everyone stared at the two sets of prints. Finally Kagemasa turned to the two Fujikawa samurai and said, “I find this man’s argument quite convincing.”
It was clear that the two samurai had become less certain of Pedro’s guilt. One of them, however, set his jaw stubbornly and glared at Zenta. “All right, I admit that the Portuguese was not the one who did the actual killing, but he might have ordered you to do it. He could have taught you to fire a gun.”
“If my employer wanted me to murder Lord Fujikawa, he would have ordered me to use a sword,” said Zenta. “The gun would immediately place the suspicion on him.”
For a moment the two Fujikawa men were silent. Then the more stubborn one said, “Who did kill our master, then? The broken fence and the footprints still show that the murderer came from your side.”
“Not necessarily,” said Zenta. “They merely show that the murderer escaped this way. He could have been someone from your side.”
“What!” shouted the samurai. “Are you accusing one of us?”
“This is a very serious charge,” said Kagemasa. “It seems to me that there is another possibility—that the murderer was someone from the outside.”
“He was barefoot,” Zenta pointed out. “An outsider would most likely have worn sandals. He certainly wouldn’t have taken the trouble to remove his sandals when he stepped into Lord Fujikawa’s room to commit murder. From the bare feet, it would seem that the murderer had been hiding inside the house, or was some member of the household.”
After giving the two Fujikawa samurai time to think over the idea, Zenta asked, “Did anyone in your household have reason to hate Lord Fujikawa?”
When he asked the question, Zenta had, of course, already guessed the answer. The two men raised their heads and looked at each other in dismay. Finally one of them said to the other, “Where is Kotaro? Have you seen him this morning?”
“Who is Kotaro?” demanded Kagemasa. “He is in charge of the samurai in our master’s household,” replied Fujikawa’s men. “I would have expected him to lead this assault on the Portuguese, then,” said Kagemasa. The two Fujikawa samurai looked very uncomfortable. “He didn’t appear when we prepared for the assault, and we had to leave without him,” said one of them.
“Perhaps he didn’t want to be seen in public until his hair . . .” began the other man, and then broke off in some confusion. He stole a look at Zenta.
“He could have worn a scarf over his head in that case,” said the first man. “Maybe he is at home arranging the protection of the womenfolk. After all, with a murderer loose, they must be terrified.”
“Then we shall go immediately to Lord Fujikawa’s residence,” said Kagemasa. He seemed anxious to get out of the hot sun before it ruined his complexion. “Lady Yuki must be overcome with grief, and it is my duty to offer her my condolences. We can inquire about this Kotaro while we are there.”
If Lady Yuki felt any grief for her father, she managed to hide every trace of it. This morning she wore no facial makeup except powder. Her skin had almost the purity of snow, which was the meaning of her name. With perfect composure, she received her visitors and gave orders for refreshments to be brought.
As Kagemasa delivered an elegantly phrased speech of condolence, Lady Yuki bowed her head and pressed her sleeves briefly over her eyes. Zenta noticed that her eyes were quite dr
y, and he caught her glance at him as she lowered her sleeve. She was probably wondering why he wasn’t under arrest together with the Portuguese. His inclusion as one of the investigating party must have seemed odd to her.
The ronin looked around the room and noticed Chiyo among the serving women. The girl’s movements as she served tea were stiff and jerky, and Zenta realized that she was in a state of shock. Lord Fujikawa’s death seemed to have affected her more than it did Lady Yuki. Knowing Chiyo’s spirit, he found this puzzling.
Kagemasa had come to the end of his polite speech and his voice took on a more businesslike tone. “Lady Yuki, forgive me for intruding on your grief like this, but there are certain questions I must put to you so that we may apprehend your father’s murderer without delay.”
For the first time Lady Yuki’s composure was slightly shaken. “Apprehend my father’s murderer? Did the Portuguese escape?”
Kagemasa gave a delicate cough. “At the moment, I do not believe that the foreigners next door are guilty. Unpleasant as it seems, there is a possibility that someone in this household may have committed the deed.”
Zenta, who was watching Lady Yuki closely, saw the blood recede from her powdered face and then come rushing back in angry, uneven patches. When she spoke, however, her voice was steady. “May I ask the reason for your extraordinary suspicion, my lord?”
Kagemasa’s embarrassment made him brusque. “We found some footprints which seemed to point the suspicion this way.”
His eyes turned to Zenta as he spoke, and Lady Yuki followed his glance. The ronin had the uncomfortable feeling that she knew he was the person responsible for the direction of Kagemasa’s suspicion.
“And now I’m afraid that I must question your people,” said Kagemasa. “Can you have someone prepare a list of all the men in your father’s employ?”
“All of the men have rushed next door to avenge my father’s death,” said Lady Yuki. “If you want a list, you will have to send Kotaro back. He is in charge of the samurai, and he would know all the names.”
The Samurai and the Long-Nosed Devils Page 6
