Following at a discreet distance, Matsuzo and Chiyo turned into the side street just in time to see Nobunaga entering the gate of the Portuguese’s residence. When the gate closed after the last of the procession, the two turned and stared at each other in astonishment.
“What does this mean?” said Matsuzo. “Could Nobunaga be investigating Lord Fujikawa’s murder in person?”
“Whatever it means, I don’t think it’s safe for you to return immediately,” said Chiyo.
“But we have to find out what is happening,” said Matsuzo.
“I know!” said Chiyo. She seemed to have recovered some of her old vivacity. “I can go to Lord Fujikawa’s garden and pass through the weak section of the bamboo fence to the Portuguese’s side. Then I’ll try to find Maria. She will tell me the news.”
“That sounds very dangerous,” said Matsuzo. “What if Hambei catches you?”
“I’m hoping that Hambei still thinks I’m under his domination,” said Chiyo. Before Matsuzo could say anything, she gave him a reassuring smile, then turned and walked quickly down the side street to Lord Fujikawa’s house.
It went against Matsuzo’s training to let a girl make the decisions and take the risks. But he had the honesty to see that her plan was a good one. The matter was too important to let his masculine pride interfere.
Pedro and the staff were in a whirl of frantic last minute preparations. The tatami mats on the floor of the principal hall were thoroughly swept, and a number of large flat cushions were set out for seating Nobunaga and other high-ranking guests.
He visited the kitchen and was relieved to see that the refreshments were arranged and ready to be served. The European food looked slightly strange on the Japanese lacquered trays, but Pedro decided that this exotic touch was precisely what the Japanese visitors would enjoy.
He was less pleased when he inspected the scientific instruments that he planned to demonstrate. The alarm clock was in good condition and gave a pleasant chime, but the astrolabe used by Portuguese sailors for navigation was badly rusted. While he was trying to polish the metal loops of the instrument, he heard Maria’s voice.
“The guests have arrived!” she called. Dashing into the corridor, Pedro nearly tripped over a girl who was on her hands and knees giving a final touch of mirror smoothness to the wooden floors. The house was not quite ready, but in one important respect Pedro was prepared. The storeroom containing the two bodies was locked and the key safely in his pocket.
When Pedro arrived in the reception room, he saw that Father Luis was already greeting the guests of honor. The priest seemed to be doing quite well without his interpreter. He was saying the proper courtesy phrases, although in an atrocious accent. He understood none of the replies, but he nodded with a simple dignity that seemed to produce a very favorable impression.
As Pedro entered and saw to the seating arrangements for the guests, he noticed that one or two of the men were not part of Nobunaga’s retinue. If his memory served him, the crests of their kimonos showed that they were members of the shogun’s party.
Pedro was pleased to see the shogun’s men, for they might serve as a buffer between him and Nobunaga’s anger. He felt like a boy who had killed his father’s prized falcon. He wanted to confess and have done with it, but he was terrified at the thought of beginning. Seeing the serving girls hovering in the doorway with the refreshments, Pedro tried to decide whether Nobunaga was a man who mellowed with wine or angered more easily under its influence.
Nobunaga took the decision from Pedro. “Before we look at your instruments, I have a small matter of business,” he announced. “One of my retainers, Hambei, told me that he came here in connection with some clues to the murder of Lord Fujikawa. So far he has sent me no word. Can you tell me whether you have seen him?”
Pedro took the plunge. “Hambei is dead. I killed him.”
Angry cries burst out in the room. Several of Nobunaga’s men half rose and reached for their swords. Nobunaga held up his hand and his men subsided, still muttering angrily. With a face set like iron, the warlord turned to Pedro and silently waited for the explanation.
Pedro tried to control his trembling, then found to his surprise that he could speak quite calmly. He reported the conversation which he had overheard between Hambei and Zenta. As he spoke he glanced quickly at the shogun’s men and saw that their expressions were studiously blank. At first he wondered why Nobunaga had brought them, but then he realized that the warlord had expected to be met by Hambei. What could be better than to have the shogun’s men hear Hambei present the proof of Mt. Hiei’s guilt? Drawing a little comfort from their presence, Pedro stated his conclusion that Hambei had killed Lord Fujikawa and arranged to have the suspicion fall on the monks of Mt. Hiei. “Since Zenta had discovered the truth,” said Pedro, “Hambei had planned to kill him and place the blame for Zenta’s death on the monks as well.”
At the end of Pedro’s recital, nobody dared to move. Everyone looked at Nobunaga as he sat tight-lipped, thinking deeply. Pedro had never felt so exposed and afraid, not even during the shipwreck.
Suddenly one of the shogun’s men broke the silence. “But what was Hambei’s motive for committing this hideous crime?” In the next moment he looked as if he would have bitten off his tongue.
“I believe that Hambei was deeply jealous of Zenta,” said Pedro. “From what I overheard, it seemed that he thought his act would provoke a war with Mt. Hiei, and he hoped this would please his master. He was also using the opportunity to get rid of a rival who might surpass him in his master’s favor.”
At last Nobunaga nodded. “You have saved my executioner some work,” he told Pedro. “Hambei received a more pleasant death than he deserved.”
“Hambei also murdered Kotaro, one of Lord Fujikawa’s samurai, because he was a witness to the murder,” added Pedro, anxious to mention every fact in his own justification.
Again Nobunaga nodded. This meant the cancellation of his campaign against Mt. Hiei, and it must have been a galling disappointment. But there would be no outward display of fury. Pedro realized that Nobunaga unleashed his famous anger only when he wished, and this increased his admiration for the man.
Gulping down a whole cupful of Pedro’s precious wine without appearing to taste a drop, Nobunaga rose. “Enough of this. The purpose of our visit is to see your scientific instruments.”
After that the visit was an anti-climax. Pedro was in no state to give a good demonstration of the alarm clock. Under his fumbling hands, the alarm went off at the wrong hour, but fortunately his audience was too preoccupied to notice. Everyone, except possibly Father Luis, rose with badly concealed relief when Nobunaga finally gave orders to prepare for departure.
Before he left, however, the warlord told Pedro that he wanted to see Zenta. Since he had just lost a valuable henchman, he would need a replacement.
Maria had reported to Pedro that Zenta had been treated by Father Luis and had regained consciousness. On seeing Pedro the ronin’s first words were, “Is he dead?”
There was no need to mention names. Pedro nodded. “I killed him.”
Zenta plucked restlessly at the thin quilt which covered him. “I don’t know what Hambei has told his master. Nobunaga may be already planning a campaign against Mt. Hiei. It must be stopped!”
“It’s already stopped,” said Pedro. “Nobunaga is here, in this house. I have just told him the whole story.”
Zenta sat up in amazement. After a moment he said, “He accepted your story?”
Pedro nodded. “The campaign against Mt. Hiei is called off.”
“Nobunaga can’t be very pleased,” remarked Zenta.
“No, but the truth is now in the open,” said Pedro, smiling. “A few of the shogun’s men were in the room and they heard everything.”
“You’ve managed very well,” murmured Zenta. “You must have had a few bad moments, though.” He lay back and closed his eyes.
“By the way, Nobunaga wants to see you
,” Pedro told the ronin. “I suppose this means that you are leaving us and entering his service?”
When Zenta made no reply, Pedro looked at him in surprise and saw that he was shivering with cold, in spite of the heat which was making his own doublet stick to his back.
“Pedro, did you tell Nobunaga that Kotaro was struck down from behind?” Zenta suddenly asked.
“No, I only said that Hambei killed him,” replied Pedro. Then, as he understood the purpose behind the question, he stared at Zenta in horror. “You intend to test Nobunaga? Then you think that he was the one who conceived the whole plot to murder Lord Fujikawa and place the blame on the monks?”
“No, the idea was obviously Hambei’s,” said Zenta. “I recognized his touch. But if Nobunaga was aware of the plot and didn’t try to stop Hambei, I want to know.”
Pedro’s heart was heavy as he looked at Zenta. “Is it really important for you to know?”
The ronin’s lips were very pale. “Yes, it is.” He got up slowly and began to dress himself. Then he picked up his sword from the sword rack, looked at the encrusted blood on the hilt and put it back again.
Pedro was silent. After a while he said, “If I were you, I wouldn’t want to know about Nobunaga.”
Zenta looked fiercely back at him. “You talked to Hambei about honor. Then you must understand!”
Pedro understood, but refused to admit it. “I plan to stay in Miyako, marry Maria, and continue to work for Father Luis, whatever you discover about Nobunaga.”
“But your case is different from mine!” cried Zenta. “Your service is with your priest, and his work is spreading his religion. For this you need Nobunaga’s patronage, whatever his personal morals. But when I enter Nobunaga’s service, I have to give him something more important than my life. I have to give him my loyalty.”
There was no answer to that. As he watched Zenta limp heavily to the door, Pedro made one last try. “I can tell him that you are too ill to see him today.”
Zenta smiled. “He will expect my attendance, even if I have to get there crawling on my hands and knees.”
As the door of Father Luis’s study closed behind him, Zenta was in a state rare for him. He was terrified. Nobunaga was alone in the small study, except for a page boy who acted as sword bearer. The warlord’s appearance was a surprise. Zenta had expected to see a giant with the immense physical strength suitable to a man of his reputed demonic energy and drive. Instead, he found that Nobunaga was tall and spare, with a build not unlike his own. The warlord’s eyes were his most striking feature. They were very direct and bright, with whites of a startling purity. It was difficult to sustain the gaze of these piercing eyes, and Zenta found it easier to keep his head lowered.
Nobunaga appeared to be in an affable mood. “The Portuguese told me that Hambei had conceived this plot in an effort to gain favor with me,” he said. His speech was clipped and staccato, totally unlike the drawling speech of Kagemasa and other supporters of the shogun. “He also said that a great part of Hambei’s motive was his jealousy of you. I find that easy to believe.”
This was gross flattery, and being flattered by a great man like Nobunaga was an intoxicating experience. Zenta realized that Nobunaga’s swift and spectacular success was largely the result of his ability to control the men under him.
“More than money and weapons, I need good men,” continued the warlord. “My struggle to unify the country is reaching a climax, and if I am successful, I shall need deputies to hold territory for me, men whom I can trust absolutely. My most able general, Hideyoshi, was once only a lowly foot soldier, but he rose to become my chief lieutenant through sheer ability. Your background, I suspect, is less humble than Hideyoshi’s, and probably personal reasons rather than political ones caused you to become a ronin.”
Zenta opened his mouth to reply, but Nobunaga interrupted him. “I don’t wish to know about your private life. With me, the only things that count are loyalty and ability, and by ability I mean more than just skill with weapons.”
Again Zenta bowed his head and murmured assent. It was the only thing he could do. Nobunaga seemed to find the interview proceeding satisfactorily, and his tone became quite kindly. “Still, a samurai must handle weapons well. Skill in swordsmanship always has a good psychological effect on the men under one’s command. I heard of your performance in cutting off Kotaro’s topknot. Very nice! Kotaro was supposed to have been Lord Fujikawa’s best man.”
This was the opening that Zenta had been looking for, but he found it almost impossible to move his tongue. In a voice that sounded husky to his own ears he said, “Kotaro was not a good swordsman. Hambei had no difficulty in defeating him.”
Hambei was dead and there was no point in giving him more credit than he deserved. “Hambei didn’t kill Kotaro in a fair fight,” said Nobunaga contemptuously. “Kotaro was unarmed, and Hambei cut him down as he tried to escape.”
Zenta now had the answer to his question. Hambei had told his master about what he had done.
Nobunaga did not seem to have noticed Zenta’s reaction. He said crisply, “Enough of Hambei. At least he told me the truth when he said that you wished to enter my service. There is nothing more that you have to do here for the Portuguese, and I have important tasks for you. Therefore give me your oath of allegiance now and join my retinue when I leave.” Zenta felt trapped under those compelling eyes. His greatest fear was that he might fall to the temptation of entering Nobunaga’s service. To help in the task of unifying the country and bringing stability was work he desperately wanted to do. But if he surrendered his loyalty to such a master, knowing of his treachery, he would lose his own integrity. He couldn’t just leave as he had done when disgusted with his former masters. He might never break free from the spell of Nobunaga’s powerful personality.
There was an impatient rustle from Nobunaga, and Zenta knew that he couldn’t delay longer in giving his response. As he lifted his head, he felt a wave of dizziness. Thankfully he saw an escape at last. He slumped forward to the mat and pretended to be overcome by weakness.
Not daring to breathe, he waited. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally heard Nobunaga rise to give a curt order for his page boy to summon the attendants. The interview was over.
Zenta’s pretended weakness was partly genuine, and he had only a hazy recollection of being helped back to his room and put to bed. Some time later Pedro entered. The expression on his face was grim. “I suppose Nobunaga failed the test?”
Zenta nodded and smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid that I may have failed his test also.”
Pedro rapped out an exclamation of disgust in Portuguese. “What did you do? You told him that you didn’t want to work for him after all? And then, I suppose, he gave you a week’s wages and his blessing to go and enter the service of one of his opponents?”
“I tried to avoid giving him an answer at all, but I don’t know if he was deceived,” admitted Zenta.
“People don’t refuse Nobunaga and live to tell about it,” said Pedro sharply. “If you change your mind about entering his service, he will think that you have become an enemy.”
“He must know that a ronin like me can’t be a significant enemy to a powerful warlord like him,” said Zenta. He added hopefully, “Nobunaga has important matters to keep him busy, and he will forget about me in a few days.”
Pedro gave a short laugh. “Does Nobunaga really look like a man who forgets easily?”
Zenta remembered the warlord’s keen eyes which seemed not to miss any detail, however insignificant. He shivered. “I must leave Miyako, then.” He had a moment of aching regret as he thought of Lady Yuki.
“Yes, well, Nobunaga must have suspected that you might try to do that,” said Pedro. “This is what I came to tell you. He left some men here to discourage you from making any such plan. As soon as you are able to ride, they will bring you to him.”
Up to that moment, overwhelmed by Nobunaga’s powerful personality, Zenta had felt ho
peless and resigned. But the warlord’s threat of coercion roused him to anger, and he sat up, feeling suddenly stronger. “He thinks his men will stop me, does he? We shall see!” “Wait!” said Pedro. “Don’t be hasty. There are eight men posted about the place and you are in no condition to take them on. I would like to help, but even with my gun . . .”
“No, you must not be involved,” said Zenta quickly. “The success of Father Luis’s mission depends on keeping Nobunaga’s favor.”
“I was about to say that we must make careful plans,” said Pedro. “Instead of rushing into a fight, we’ll have to think of some way to get you out without arousing the suspicion of Nobunaga’s men.”
“If Matsuzo were here he could help,” muttered Zenta. “What could have happened to him? I hope that wretched girl Chiyo hasn’t gotten him into trouble!”
Chapter 14
Matsuzo was waiting for Chiyo at a little refreshment stand around the corner from the street of the Portuguese. The benches of the stand were occupied by people waiting for the procession of floats which formed the climax of the Gion Festival. Matsuzo sat on one of the reed-covered benches and stared with unseeing eyes at the crowd. On the next bench some young girls dressed in their best holiday kimonos turned to look coyly at him. At any other time he would have blushed and stolen glances back at them, but to their infinite regret he was too preoccupied to notice.
Hearing commands being given for the people to make way, he turned to look and saw that Nobunaga’s cavalcade was leaving the residence of the Portuguese. Now that he knew the identity of the leading horseman, Matsuzo looked curiously at him as he passed. The manner in which Nobunaga held his back and gripped the reins of his horse made Matsuzo suspect that something had happened to displease the warlord during the visit to the Portuguese.
The attitude of the crowd toward Nobunaga contained admiration mixed with fear. By insisting on orderly behavior from his own men and ruthlessly stamping out all lawlessness in the capital city, Nobunaga had gained the respect of Miyako’s citizens. They had suffered the ravages of civil war too often, and they appreciated the iron hand of the latest conqueror.
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