In the dressing room Matsuzo squatted in front of a large mirror and tried to retie his topknot neatly. The little maid who had showed them to the bath was charming, and Matsuzo hoped that she would return in time to scrub his back. He thought it likely that she would serve dinner to them later. Her cheeks dimpled delightfully when she smiled, and he intended to find out if she would be free after dinner.
The thought of dinner made Matsuzo very hungry, and he was glad when Zenta called out that he was nearly through with the soaking. Undressing promptly, Matsuzo stepped down into the washing room and prepared to scrub himself. He was just in time to see the window behind Zenta opening.
Before Matsuzo had time to call out a warning, Zenta’s head jerked up. With a tremendous splash he bounded out of the tub and rushed out of the bathhouse.
Drenched and bewildered, Matsuzo blinked the water from his eyes and followed his companion. Guided by the sound of crackling shrubbery, he made his way to the back of the building. He found Zenta standing at the open window which had been directly behind the bathtub.
“What happened?” he asked.
Zenta motioned Matsuzo to be silent. He listened intently and peered all around. There was not a sound. “When I was in the tub just now, I felt something icy go down the back of my neck,” he said slowly.
At these words, Matsuzo could almost feel ice on his own back. His teeth began to chatter.
Footsteps approached, and both men whirled around. They saw two shadowy figures walk up to the bathhouse. In the light from the open window, Matsuzo recognized Ume and the little maid.
The saucy little maid was holding a pile of clothes in her arms, and at the sight of the shivering, naked men, she broke into giggles.
Ume kept a straight face and inquired politely, “Was everything quite satisfactory in the bathhouse, gentlemen?”
Zenta stared intently at the old woman. Suddenly he threw back his head and started to laugh. “Everything was nice, except that I felt a draft behind my back. It seemed that one of the windows in the washing room was not securely fastened.”
For an instant Ume’s wrinkled face showed grudging respect. “How careless of me!” she exclaimed. “I shall see that it doesn’t happen again. And now we must help you to finish your bath before you get chilled. Your dinner is already prepared and will be brought to your room shortly.”
“That will not be necessary,” said the voice of Jihei. “My master requests the company of these two gentlemen at dinner tonight.”
In spite of his size, he had moved very quietly and they had not heard his approach. If he saw anything strange about the two ronin standing naked in the cold night air, he kept his thoughts to himself. He turned to the women and said curtly, “You are not needed here. Take yourselves off immediately.”
As the three men walked back to the entrance of the bathhouse, Jihei said, “When I returned to your room, I discovered that you had already left for the bathhouse. That meddling old hag certainly lost no time trying to recruit you. What did she offer?”
“Offer?” asked Zenta innocently. “Why, she offered us a bath.”
Jihei looked sourly for a moment at the ronin without speaking. Then he turned abruptly and walked down the path. “You will have to hurry if you don’t want to be late for the dinner,” he said over his shoulder.
Chapter 6
The two ronin were in time to join the last of the dinner guests assembled and waiting to file into the dining hall. They were surprised to learn that they would be dining with the envoy and some of his men. It was an unexpected honor for the two ronin.
Zenta was usually very careless of his appearance, and Matsuzo was relieved that for this occasion he had taken the trouble to look almost presentable. The two men were wearing the kimonos brought by the little maid, and as Matsuzo settled the sleeves of his, he could still smell the faint perfume of the storehouse incense.
At first glance Matsuzo found the huge dining hall rather austere. The wooden floor was bare and polished to a mirror smoothness. Seating for the guests consisted of flat round cushions of braided rice straw. But Matsuzo soon detected signs of elegance. The tall candlesticks were of beautifully chased bronze, and one wall of the room was almost completely covered by a painting of a pine tree. The picture dominated the room with its vivid green and gold. Matsuzo knew enough about art to tell that the painting was the work of a master. He suspected the influence of Lord Okudaira’s second wife in the furnishings. A lady from the capital city, used to elegance and sophistication, would want to soften the austerity of a feudal lord’s castle.
The diners sat down along three sides of the room, with the daimyo’s envoy at the place of honor in front of the painting. By the somber richness of his kimono, the envoy made the chamberlain’s bright colors look cheap. Even for this social occasion, the envoy’s face did not relax from its rigid hauteur. Three of his retainers were at the dinner, and they behaved with equal aloofness.
An individual tray of food was set on the floor in front of each diner, and the first course began. Servants scurried around diligently filling saké cups, but in spite of their efforts, the party showed no signs of becoming a success.
Looking over the dinner guests, Matsuzo thought that they formed a rather ill-assorted company. He glanced from the aristocratic envoy to the fawning chamberlain, who was seated next to the guest of honor. Below him was Jihei, holding a ridiculously delicate china wine cup in his huge, powerful hands.
Sitting beside Jihei was the envoy’s chief retainer, a samurai called Saemon. Matsuzo remembered him as the man who had spoken to the chamberlain in the courtyard that afternoon. Saemon had a pleasant face, cleverlooking and humorous. Although not powerfully built like Jihei, he gave the impression of wiry strength. For some reason Matsuzo suspected that Saemon was more intelligent than his master the envoy. Perhaps it was the way the envoy frequently looked at his retainer, as if for guidance.
Matsuzo’s eyes finally went back to Zenta, who was hunched over his tray wholly occupied with food. In fact his concentration on food was almost embarrassing to see.
Meanwhile the chamberlain was struggling to make pleasant conversation with his unresponsive guest of honor. “Did you have good weather on your way up? It can get quite blustery at this time of the year.”
“I didn’t notice the weather, since I was traveling on an important mission,” answered the envoy coldly.
It was heavy going, but the chamberlain was not easily discouraged. “I used to make the trip to the daimyo’s capital quite often when I was a youth. In recent years, of course, my duties at the castle have prevented me from traveling. But I still remember one particularly bad river that had to be forded. Do you know the one I mean?”
“An account of your youthful adventures is no doubt of overwhelming interest to some of the people in this room,” said the envoy, openly yawning.
The chamberlain flushed. Turning to scowl at the serving girl holding the wine jar behind him, he said, “Stop dawdling and hurry up with that saké! Who was responsible for your training, anyway?”
“Since the girl was probably trained in Lord Okudaira’s household,” said the envoy acidly, “perhaps it’s a good thing that your master is not alive to hear your criticism.”
That silenced the chamberlain, and for the next few minutes, conversation in the dining hall languished. Then the chamberlain emptied three cups of saké in rapid succession and picked up the courage to try again. He launched into a description of the castle, and he finally seemed to have found a topic that interested his guests.
Matsuzo saw that Saemon’s eyes were bright with interest as he listened to the chamberlain’s talk on the castle’s fortification, and even the envoy’s sneer was less pronounced. Only Zenta, busily eating, paid no attention.
“And by the time the stone base for the outer wall was completed,” said the chamberlain, “our castle became one of the most strongly fortified in this part of the country.” He turned to Zenta. “You hav
e traveled widely, I’m told, and you must have seen a great deal. What do you think of it?”
“What?” Zenta’s reply was muffled. He hurriedly swallowed some fish and held out his wine cup to the waiting servant. “I think that serving it raw with chopped herbs and soy sauce is an excellent way of preparing this fish, but I also like it rubbed with coarse salt and broiled.”
He seemed not to notice the smiles that greeted his remark, and he added, “By the way, it seems ungrateful to mention this after receiving all this lavish hospitality, but when I was taking a bath this evening, I felt something icy crawl down my neck. It was a most peculiar sensation. Perhaps you should have the bathrooms here checked for pests?”
In the silence that followed, Matsuzo heard a faint plop. A piece of raw fish had fallen from the chamberlain’s nervous hand into his wine cup.
The envoy was the first to speak. “Since I arrived at this castle, there have been disturbances in the night. My retainer Saemon made inquiries, and he told me that people here claim the disturbances were caused by something called the White Serpent . . .”
Jihei broke in. “That’s just pure feminine hysteria!”
“You mean that I was suffering from feminine hysteria?” asked Zenta gently.
“Of course, I didn’t mean you,” said Jihei impatiently. “I was referring to those women who said they saw a long white thing and heard ghostly music.”
“Some of the samurai here say that they have heard the ghostly music, too,” said Saemon.
“One of the women could be deliberately playing a trick on us,” growled Jihei. “But if it’s just a woman’s trick, why can’t you find out how she did it and stop her?” asked Zenta.
“It’s not as easy as you think!” said Jihei angrily. “Most of the disturbances took place in the women’s quarters, and we’re not supposed to go there. But the next time there is an outcry about the ghost, I promise that we will make a very thorough search into every corner of the castle, even if it does take us into the women’s quarters!”
“Are you saying that some woman in this castle is pretending to be the ghost?” asked the envoy. “What can be her reason for doing this?” The chamberlain said hurriedly, “Jihei only means that he is a realist and is not ready to believe in anything without solid proof.” Turning to Jihei he said, “But by its very nature, it’s impossible to get solid proof of a ghost. These old legends are never completely without foundation, you know. We shouldn’t offend the spirits by too much skepticism.”
“Nevertheless we should search carefully for traces of human handiwork behind the ghost,” insisted Jihei.
As the trays for the first course were removed and the second course brought in, a serving woman came in, bowed and spoke to the chamberlain in a low voice.
The chamberlain gave a start of surprise and smiled happily. “We are indeed fortunate tonight,” he announced. “Lady Kaede wishes to honor our distinguished guests, and she is having some of the castle’s prized saké brought out to be served.”
A double sliding door opened and Lady Kaede, Lord Okudaira’s widow, entered the room. She was followed by a procession of serving girls holding trays with heated bottles of saké.
Lady Kaede looked so young that Matsuzo found it hard to believe she had a nine-year-old son. He remembered Ume saying that Lady Kaede was from one of the noble families of Miyako, and he could imagine the generations of inbreeding that went into producing her fine bones. Transplanted from the milder Miyako air, she looked almost too frail to support the harsh northern climate.
With a bow to the guest of honor, she said, “This wine is of poor quality, but it is the best that we have in this backward region. Therefore please accept it as a mark of our respect.” She spoke with a marked Western accent that sounded soft and musical compared to the staccato speech of the northern warriors. Acknowledging the envoy’s thanks, she retreated outside the square of diners and sat down to direct her women in serving the wine. Matsuzo suspected that curiosity about the guests had prompted her appearance at the party, for she looked at the envoy and his retainer Saemon with keen interest. He even found her thoughtful gaze on himself and Zenta. Without joining the conversation of the diners, she examined in turn each of the visitors to the castle.
Conversation in the room was losing its struggle for survival. The usual coarse jests heard in a drinking party did not flourish in the envoy’s hearing, and with Lady Kaede’s added presence, even milder attempts at humor died down.
The chamberlain began to look desperate as the stretches of silence grew longer and longer. Made bold by the saké, he finally turned to the envoy and said, “Have you attended many drinking parties at the daimyo’s castle together with Lord Okudaira?”
“No,” replied the envoy curtly. “I’ve had very few opportunities to do so.”
At this point Zenta looked up from his food at last. With the worst of his hunger pangs satisfied, he seemed ready to make some much needed contribution to the conversation. He addressed the envoy respectfully. “Perhaps you were present on the famous occasion when Lord Okudaira and his friend Lord Mochizuki spent the whole evening capping each other’s verses to a beautiful lady? Their poetic feats were the talk of the daimyo’s capital for weeks.” The envoy’s expression grew freezing. “I hardly think that Lord Okudaira’s love affair is the proper topic for discussion in the present company!”
Zenta’s chopsticks fell from his fingers with a clatter. He sat completely still for several seconds, and then he roused himself and put his chopsticks on their china holder with exaggerated care.
Matsuzo went hot with shame over the public rebuke received by his friend, and for a moment he was filled with an acute dislike for the arrogant envoy. He looked at Lady Kaede for her reaction, and saw that she sat as motionless as a porcelain doll. Her face showed not a trace of expression.
During the next few minutes Zenta busied himself with his food once more. Suddenly he raised his head and addressed the envoy again, evidently willing to risk another rebuke. “Were you at the archery contest in the daimyo’s capital last May? All of the daimyo’s chief supporters must have taken part. What a glorious pageant it was! It was a pity that the weather was so wet. The muddy ground caused many horses to slip, and several fine archers lost through no fault of theirs.”
The envoy seemed to regret his harshness toward the ronin, and this time he answered more pleasantly. “I had to miss that contest, unfortunately. The wet weather started a recurrence of an old illness of mine.” He looked at Zenta in some surprise. “Were you there during the contest?”
“I was there in the capacity of an attendant,” replied Zenta. “Some of the contestants wanted a little coaching.”
There was a bustling in the dining hall. Lady Kaede had stood up, and she was directing her women to gather up the saké utensils. Cutting short the chamberlain’s effusive thanks, she gave a grave nod to the company. Then she arranged her trailing skirt behind her and swept from the room.
With Lady Kaede’s departure, the envoy apparently felt that the dinner party had no further claim on his patience. In spite of the chamberlain’s eager offer to call in dancers and musicians, he could not be persuaded to stay any longer.
“I know what we shall do,” said the chamberlain. “We can take a stroll in the garden to dispel the wine fumes. It would be nice to do some moon viewing, and the more talented of us can make verses.”
When the envoy showed no interest in verse making, the chamberlain said hurriedly, “Our garden is noted for its miniature mountain, a most curiously shaped piece of rockery. We should be honored to have your opinion on it.” While the chamberlain gave orders for lanterns to be brought, the dinner guests struggled to their feet. There were some audible groans and some crackling knees. The diners left the room as quickly as good manners permitted, glad to escape the discomfort of the dinner party and find release in the garden.
Chapter 7
“We need more light here,” grumbled the chamberlain
. “I just bumped my toe against this rock!” In a few minutes lanterns were bobbing here and there, held by the serving girls to help the guests along the treacherously twisting paths. In the flickering light the garden had the fantastical look of a scene from an old fairy tale. “Now, who is going to be the first person with a poem to the autumn moon?” asked the chamberlain.
Zenta noticed that Matsuzo was the only person to respond enthusiastically. His young friend would certainly not miss this opportunity to indulge in his favorite pastime.
The idea of a moon-viewing party originated with the noblemen of the imperial court at Miyako, who were experts at elaborate diversions. At first the members of the warrior class had been contemptuous of the nobles and their decadent life. But gradually many of the more wealthy warlords began to adopt the practices of the noblemen.
Zenta suspected that the moon-viewing mound in Lord Okudaira’s castle had been built at the suggestion of Lady Kaede. A noblewoman herself, she was familiar with the life of the imperial court.
Zenta smiled to himself as he watched the castle samurai blunder about the twisted paths of the garden, dutifully uttering praises to the moon. As practiced by these provincial warriors, the moon-viewing party became a grotesque exercise.
Curious to see what the envoy made of all this, he looked around until he caught sight of that official. The other man was, in fact, looking in his direction, and he suddenly had the conviction that the envoy was simply waiting for an opportunity to speak privately with him.
As soon as the envoy caught Zenta’s eye, he began slowly approaching. The chamberlain, talking without pause, followed his guest of honor. The other man’s coldness only increased his efforts to please, and the envoy soon had the frustrated expression of a man who could not shake off a buzzing fly.
“Ah, these gifted young people!” exclaimed the chamberlain, pointing to Matsuzo who was already reciting his first verses to the moon. “How it brings back memories of my own youth when I used to compose poetry right in the face of danger!”
White Serpent Castle Page 4
