Zenta nodded as if he had come to a decision. “Then I will prove my loyalty right now.” He lowered his voice slightly. “I have some urgent information about Shigeteru which you should know immediately.”
Jihei gave a start. He thrust himself forward in order to hear more clearly.
Zenta looked at him with narrowed eyes. Turning back to the chamberlain he said, “Are you sure that you want everybody to hear?” He jerked his head to indicate Jihei.
The chamberlain considered. “Very well,” he said and commanded the crowd to step back. Then he signed for Zenta to approach closer.
Jihei tried to catch his master’s eye. “Wait, I don’t think it’s safe . . .”
“Step back,” ordered the chamberlain and glared suspiciously at his henchman. He had his own way of taking precaution, however. Seizing Yoshiteru, he placed the boy in front of him as a shield. The woman held tightly to the boy’s other arm.
Yoshiteru wriggled in the painful grip. He looked up at Zenta with desperate appeal. “They locked up my mother, and when our fighting women tried to protect us, these men killed them!” he cried.
“My men have been waiting for a long time to get rid of those three fiends with their halberds,” laughed the chamberlain.
Zenta thought of the women warriors who had helped him so generously during the ghost hunt. He remembered their fierce courage, their irrepressible humor and their exuberance with the halberd.
The chamberlain must have seen a dangerous look in Zenta’s face, for he retreated a step, holding Yoshiteru even more tightly. The boy suddenly lifted his foot and kicked back as hard as he could. The chamberlain yelped and dropped his hands. Yoshiteru promptly threw himself forward.
That was all Zenta needed. Ignoring the violent stab of pain in his shoulder, he whipped his sword up with both hands and brought it down and across with all his strength. The fantastic blade went through the woman’s neck and cut into the chamberlain’s chest with one continuous motion. The chamberlain gave a choked cry, then fell and lay still.
Yoshiteru whimpered a little when the blood cascaded down his back. Then he drew a great shuddering breath and held himself erect. His resemblance to Lady Tama was never more obvious.
Some of the men started forward, but they retreated again at the sight of Zenta’s dripping sword. He addressed them before anyone could speak. “The chamberlain was a faithless vassal who threatened the lives of his lord’s family. He deserved to die.”
There was some murmuring, but no one moved.
Then Jihei strode forward. “Do you call yourselves samurai?” he cried to the motionless crowd. “Will no one lift a hand to avenge his master?”
“Your master is here: Yoshiteru,” said Zenta quickly. “If anyone lifts his hand and raises his weapon, he makes himself an outcast from this castle and a ronin.”
“You are a ronin yourself and an intruder to our castle,” returned Jihei. He turned to the men around him. “Are you going to stand there listening while your master lies dead at your feet?”
Still no one moved. In the flickering torchlight, the men stood as motionless as wooden statues in a temple.
“Then I shall have to teach you how a true samurai acts,” said Jihei and drew his sword.
As Zenta watched Jihei’s massive figure approach, he knew that it would be a miracle if he survived more than three passes with his opponent. He stared at the set of the heavy shoulders, calculating just how the blow would come. In the end it was instinct rather than conscious will that moved his body out of the way and brought his sword up for the return blow. But his movements were tardy, and the effort cost him more than he could afford.
Jihei was puzzled. He couldn’t understand why his opponent held his sword so awkwardly, or why the riposte was so feeble. Knowing the other man’s caliber, he suspected a trick. Cautiously, he retreated a step.
Zenta moved a little to the left. He didn’t want the light from the nearest torchbearer to fall on the blood that was rapidly spreading over the upper part of his kimono. In raising his sword to strike at the chamberlain, he had displaced the bandage on his shoulder and started the wound bleeding again. He knew he had to finish the fight before he lost too much blood. Some of the spectators noticed his condition, and there was a low buzz of whispering.
Jihei took a deep breath and lunged forward again, swinging a powerful wheel stroke, followed by a lightning fast remise. This time Zenta was forced to parry. He twisted his blade sharply to avoid the full force of the blow. Nevertheless the impact sent fire coursing through his left shoulder, and he stifled a gasp.
They had shifted ground after the exchange. Now for the first time, Jihei saw Zenta fully illuminated by the torches. His eyes took in the red stain, and he finally understood the reason for his opponent’s weakness. He knew that he had the other man completely at his mercy.
Zenta swayed. He closed his eyes and sank down on one knee. Jihei approached slowly, in no hurry to give the finishing stroke. He wanted time to enjoy his triumph.
As Jihei, smiling contentedly, closed in for the death blow, Zenta’s sword flashed up from the ground in a low, vicious arc. It struck his opponent’s legs with all the force and speed produced by ten years of single-minded training. To the spectators, it seemed that both men went down together.
After an eternity, Zenta got slowly to his feet and looked down at the big man on the sandy ground. With the tendons of both legs cut through, Jihei struggled without success to rise. His breath hissed and he collapsed back.
“Bind up his legs and stop his bleeding,” ordered Zenta, “so that he will be able to commit hara-kiri.”
Jihei deserved the privilege of hara-kiri. He was a brave man and a loyal one in his own way.
Then Zenta looked around dizzily, seeking Yoshiteru. The boy tore himself from the edge of the crowd and ran up eagerly. Zenta put his arms around the small shoulders. Only the men who were very close to them could tell that he was leaning on the boy for support.
“Here is your rightful feudal lord,” Zenta told the silent crowd. “Get down on your knees and swear allegiance to him.”
Chapter 15
“Of course, it’s unseemly to have a full-scale celebration with the dead still lying uncremated,” said Ume. “But considering the magnitude of our victory, the men are having some saké in the dining hall. Saemon thought this would be a good opportunity to establish a friendly understanding between his men and the castle samurai.”
It was the next morning, and Ume was describing the impromptu victory party that was taking place in the dining hall. Lady Tama, far from opposing the idea, had enthusiastically given orders for the cooks to get busy. Naturally, Zenta and Matsuzo were expected as guests of honor.
“Where is Lady Tama now?” asked Zenta. He was sitting listlessly on the floor of their room, and looked up only briefly when Ume entered.
“She is in her own room, wild with frustration at not being able to join a men’s party. I told her that since we are no longer in a state of emergency, she must observe decorum once again, as befitting the mistress of this castle.” Ume laid particular emphasis on her last words, and looked challengingly at Zenta.
He merely nodded indifferently and said, “I think I’ll stay in my room also. I want to get some rest.”
“What?” cried Ume. “But there will be plenty of good food!”
“I simply don’t feel like a party,” said Zenta curtly.
At the door, Ume turned and whispered to Matsuzo, “He must be sicker than he looks if he refuses food. Perhaps his wound is making him feverish.”
Matsuzo was worried about Zenta, too. He had watched the physician bandage the wound, and he had seen that it was merely a flesh wound, unlikely to cause complications. Loss of blood alone couldn’t account for the present low spirits.
“Why don’t you join the party?” Zenta asked the younger man after Ume had left.
“There is something on your mind, isn’t there?” said Matsuzo. “Perhaps
I can help.”
Zenta opened his eyes and considered the younger man for a moment. “Maybe you can,” he said slowly. But before he could go on, the door opened to admit Saemon.
The man who had acted with equal success both as an envoy’s chief retainer and as the leader of an insurrection now entered the room with a firm and confident step. He thanked Zenta warmly for his help and expressed his admiration for the way he had handled matters.
Then he said, “You know, Lady Tama is not altogether pleased at the way you took it on yourself to proclaim Yoshiteru lord of the castle.”
“Why not?” asked Zenta. “Does she object to seeing her brother proclaimed?”
Saemon’s admiration for Lady Tama apparently stopped short of infatuation. He took the time to consider the question objectively. “I think she is willing to accept him as lord of the castle. With Shigeteru dead, who else is there? But she wants the initiative to come from herself, so that all the control doesn’t pass to the boy’s mother.”
“Lady Kaede doesn’t have a single supporter,” Zenta pointed out.
Saemon looked at him curiously. “Then you don’t count yourself as one? You must know that most of the castle men would follow your lead. Part of Lady Tama’s fear is that your support for Yoshiteru is the result of your feelings towards his mother. Lady Tama hates her stepmother.”
When Zenta made no answer, Saemon didn’t pursue the subject. After a pause he said, “Now that Shigeteru’s murder has been avenged, my business here is really finished. I am a ronin, just as you are. Perhaps we can join forces.” Then he gave a little laugh. “I might even give up my wandering life and settle down. Would you enter Lady Tama’s service if she wanted you?”
Zenta gave a noncommittal grunt and said, “How long have you known that your friend was Okudaira Shigeteru? He kept quiet about it until he received news of Lord Okudaira’s death, I suppose.”
“That’s right,” said Saemon. “How did you guess? We had known each other for three years, and he never gave a hint!”
“He was a clever man, and very brave,” murmured Zenta. One might disapprove of the dead man, but one had to give him credit for sheer nerve.
“Yes, he was full of ideas,” said Saemon, reminiscing. “Why, there was the time when he pretended . . .” He broke off when he saw that Zenta had leaned back and closed his eyes. “Are you all right? Shall I call the physician again?” he asked in concern.
Matsuzo, who was getting to know his friend pretty well, suddenly realized that Zenta was as tense as a drawn bow and was feverishly waiting for Saemon to leave. He said, “I think Zenta just needs a good rest. No doubt by tomorrow morning, he will be cheerfully discussing plans for the future.”
Saemon immediately apologized for disturbing them. He repeated his expressions of gratitude and quickly left the room.
After the door closed Zenta lay perfectly still. Matsuzo regarded him for a while and then asked quietly, “What are you planning to do?”
“See if there is anyone in the corridor,” ordered Zenta.
Matsuzo carefully slid the door open and put his head out. “There is no one,” he reported.
Zenta got up and leaned against a pillar until his head cleared. Then he picked up his swords. “Let’s go.”
They walked quietly down the hall. Turning a corner, they came face to face with the little maid, who was bringing them trays of food.
“I-I thought y-you were resting in your room,” she stammered.
Zenta frowned. “I’m looking for the privy. May I have your gracious permission to go?” he asked icily.
She reddened, pointed out the direction to them and fled. In her confusion she didn’t ask herself why a man looking for the privy should go completely armed.
They were able to find their way to the envoy’s room without further encounters.
The guards in front of the envoy’s room were surprised to see the two men, but they bowed with extreme respect. They had witnessed Zenta’s duel with Jihei, and they knew he was high in Saemon’s esteem. When he asked to enter the envoy’s room to pay his respects privately to the dead man, they didn’t think of questioning him. Opening the door, they bowed once more and stood back to let the two men enter.
When the door closed, Zenta’s eyes went to the envoy’s body. It was carefully arranged on a mattress and covered by a quilt. Instead of approaching the body, however, he went to the stained patch on the tatami mat where the body had been discovered. Some attempt had been made to wipe the blood, but it had soaked deeply into the reed cover and the stain was still visible.
Zenta bent down to lift the corner of one mat. He winced and said, “Help me with this.” Matsuzo took another corner and together they lifted the tatami mat and then another one and a third. A path was opened from the site of the body to the emergency exit in the corner of the room.
Clearly printed on the bare wooden floor under the mats was a series of footprints. The blood had dried, and the prints were now dark brown.
They stared in silence. Finally Matsuzo spoke. “So that was how the murderer escaped from the room without leaving another visible footprint! He simply lifted each tatami mat, stood it on its side and walked on the bare floor. Then he replaced the mat behind him! How did you guess that this was the trick?”
“I remembered the ghost hunt, when Jihei’s men broke into Lady Tama’s rooms and lifted the mats one by one, trying to find hidden equipment for the ghost. I realized that the tatami could hide footprints as well.”
After a moment Matsuzo said, “I still don’t see why the murderer didn’t just walk normally to the escape hole. Why did he go to the trouble of hiding his footprints?”
Even as the words left his mouth, Matsuzo saw the answer. “I see. These prints are those of a woman. The murderess wanted the blame to fall on us or on one of Jihei’s men. Who is she?” Zenta didn’t answer, but the torment on his face was plain to see. He turned slowly to the door and said, “I am going to talk to her.” Matsuzo made a move to follow, but Zenta said sharply, “No! I am going alone.”
As Zenta made his way to Lady Kaede’s apartments, he had no premonition of danger. He wanted desperately to find frankness, not treachery. He remembered Yoshiteru’s laughing face at their first meeting, and hoped that the boy was still asleep.
A group of terrified ladies met him at the entrance to Lady Kaede’s rooms. They had already suffered two invasions in the last two days. The invasion of the ghost hunters had been annoying, but there had been amusing moments. The second invasion had been harrowing. The women fighters had been slaughtered and Yoshiteru dragged out screaming. Now, the mere sight of an armed man was enough to start them twittering with fear.
They quieted at last when they recognized him as their young master’s rescuer. Even his request for a private interview with their mistress caused only a mild ripple of shock.
Lady Kaede was in the same reception room as before, but this time she was arranging flowers. Her incredibly small and slender hands were more beautiful than the blossoms they held.
“It seems that once more I am to thank you for saving the life of my son,” she murmured.
Without any preamble Zenta said, “I was in the envoy’s room, and I saw the footprints under the tatami mats.”
For five hundred years the women in Lady Kaede’s family had been trained to hide their feelings. With absolute calm she said, “I don’t understand. Why are you telling me about the footprints?”
“Those footprints were incriminating because it’s obvious that they were made by a woman. That was why they were hidden under the tatami mats.”
The flowers fell from her hands, but her beautiful eyes regarded him steadily. “What you are saying, then, is that the murder of the envoy was committed by a woman. There are many women in this castle working for the chamberlain. One of them could have done the deed.”
“The chamberlain hated the envoy, but he knew better than to try to murder him. The chamberlain would be blamed for
the murder, and that would be the end of his hopes for succeeding Lord Okudaira.”
Her glance did not falter, but she shifted her tactics. “Tama is a girl of strong emotions. Perhaps she was in love with the envoy, and he repulsed her advances.”
“Lady Kaede,” said Zenta softly, “let us stop pretending. The envoy was Lady Tama’s brother in disguise, and you knew this perfectly well. You and I were the only two people in the dining hall who knew that the envoy had made a slip. The castle samurai who were present did not go to the daimyo’s capital because they were the chamberlain’s men, hired to serve him here. But you knew about the poetry party and the archery contest because you had accompanied Lord Okudaira.”
She lifted a hand to brush a flower petal from her lap, but otherwise she sat motionless. Her perfume, which had intoxicated him earlier, now nauseated him.
Dropping his voice to a whisper, Zenta continued. “Those footprints were made by very small feet. Not only were they too small to be a man’s, but only centuries of inbreeding could produce the fine bones which made those prints.” He suddenly reached over and plucked her dagger from her sash, the dagger which all women of her class wore. She did not even flinch from his touch.
“Washed clean, of course,” he murmured. “But you are not an expert at cleaning weapons, and you have left some minute traces of blood in the ornamental work.”
He was hoping she would claim that she had acted in a panic, that she had killed the envoy to protect her son. But she retained a cold control which seemed monstrous when compared to Lady Tama’s hot-blooded impulsiveness.
Now that denial was useless, she talked about the murder quite willingly. “Shigeteru had to die, of course. I killed him secretly so that the chamberlain wouldn’t know. If he found out that Shigeteru was no longer a threat, he would feel free to kill my son and marry Tama.”
“But why were you so ready to regard Shigeteru as an enemy?” he cried. “He and Yoshiteru were brothers, and they might have come to love each other!”
White Serpent Castle Page 11
