The Samurai's Heart (The Heart Of The Samurai Book 1)

by Walt Mussell

  Sen raised her hands slightly to give her mother a hug but stopped and returned them to her sides. Her lips pursed and grew into a wide smile. “I have missed you.” Her voice nearly broke as she said it.

  Her mother reached up and cupped Sen’s cheeks, then gave her a long hug. “It is good to see you,” she said in the same voice that had always reassured Sen as a child.

  Sen cleared her throat. “Where’s Father?”

  “Tidying up a little more. He and his apprentice have worked hard since early this morning.”

  Apprentice? In her sorrow, she had forgotten. Haru’s husband was not her father’s only pupil. Another man had come to work for the family a few years after she had left. It was good that her father had someone else to teach. “A rush request?”

  “Sen,” her mother scolded in a playful tone, “your father crafts the finest blades. Have you forgotten the time this requires? Now come help me in the kitchen. We’re serving dinner in ten minutes.”

  She headed to the kitchen, becoming again the little girl who used to follow her mother around, and assisted her with last-minute preparations. Thoughts of duty receded as they prepared the individual trays.

  Sen’s mother headed to the door that faced the workshop. “Your daughter is home and dinner is ready. What are you waiting for, you old goat?”

  Sen laughed at her mother’s words, the teasing that made home wonderful. Then the laughter subsided. She stared at her father as her mouth opened and more childhood memories flooded back, along with more tears.

  Then her gaze fell upon his apprentice, the man behind her father. The man who’d saved her from falling at the castle. The man she’d been thinking about for two days.

  She froze. “Oh!”

  Nobuhiro appeared equally stunned. “Sen?”

  “What?” Sen’s father smiled as his eyes grew large. “No greeting for your father?”

  Sen looked back at her father and glowed inside at the sight of him. She hurried over and bowed low, clasping her hands as she rose. “It is good to see you, Father. I have missed you very much.”

  “And I, you.” He grasped her hands in his and held them tight. “You have been gone much too long. Welcome home!”

  He reached over and brushed away a tear, then stepped back and glanced at Nobuhiro. “It would seem you two know each other.”

  She looked down as her face warmed and she rubbed her nose. He’s here? She then faced the two of them. “We’ve met. He was at the castle two days ago.”

  “Yes.” Nobuhiro’s face turned red. “I was delivering a ceremonial sword your father crafted.”

  She smiled. The coincidence she’d discarded on the castle grounds now rang true. “So, you’re the . . . ” She swallowed the words other apprentice. Another reminder that Haru and her husband were gone. “You’re the man my parents wrote about. You’ve been studying here for a long time.”

  “It takes years to learn this craft. Your father is the best at what he does.”

  “And he’s learning well,” her father added. “He’s progressing even faster than I did at his age.”

  She nodded, afraid to say much more. Being a swordsmith required painstaking attention. If Nobuhiro possessed the patience for the craft, he wasn’t deserving of his father’s disdain. However, now that Nobuhiro’s father knew the name of his youngest son’s employer, could it ruin her father’s business? How much time remained on his apprenticeship? The sooner he moved on and opened his own business, the better.

  The business was only part of it. Nobuhiro’s father knew about her faith, the faith she adopted while serving Lord Akamatsu. Sen’s parents weren’t Christian. Could her beliefs impact her family just as Lord Akamatsu’s beliefs had led to the loss of his castle? How could she express duty to family and faith if her religion could cause her parents to lose everything? She rubbed her fingers under the neckline of her kimono, feeling her scars. Two reminders of the choice she had made and how she had been spared.

  Might her parents one day have to make a choice between their own lives and Sen?

  Chapter Three

  Nobuhiro bit his lip and stared at the floor while Master Goami’s wife removed the serving trays, the clicking of the lacquer disrupting the conversation. Nobuhiro had met Sen only two days ago, and had thought of her constantly since. Blast Toshi and his ridiculous proverb this morning about a samurai “being aware of his surroundings.” Couldn’t he have told him who Sen was? Mentioned she was coming tonight? Maybe Nobuhiro could have prepared. Had something to say.

  His nerves pricked at him like a heated blade. Why did she have to be Master Goami’s daughter? If she had just been a castle servant, he would have never seen her again. He should leave and allow them to enjoy the rest of their family reunion.

  “Excuse me,” Nobuhiro said, placing his weight on his right foot so he could stand. He worked to not look at Sen. “I . . . I need to go. I left the workshop in disarray. I should go clean it.”

  “Please, Nobuhiro. Sit down.” Master Goami’s tone was a polite command. “The workshop is fine. We put everything away.”

  Nobuhiro paused and then continued to rise. Sweat flowed down his neck and back, disappearing into the white kimono he wore underneath his brown one. He tried to slow his breathing. Slower breaths. Lower tension. Then no nervous stutter. He raised his head toward Master Goami. Anything to avoid looking at Sen. Anything to hide his thoughts. Though Master Goami, discerning Nobuhiro’s feelings, wouldn’t be much better. “My room needs attention. I should address it.”

  “Nobuhiro.” The old man’s tone carried a calm rebuke. “My wife made a favorite treat of Sen’s to welcome her home. This is a celebration for us. Besides, you didn’t eat much at dinner. I’m sure you’re still hungry.”

  Yes, he was, but he always left dinner a little hungry. When he was younger and had just started as an apprentice, he ate his fill. A product of living on the street after he’d run away. Then he discovered that Master Goami’s wife often made additional rice after he went to bed. The rice provided an early-morning snack when he started his morning chores in the workshop. If he didn’t overeat at dinner, she didn’t have to work late in the kitchen.

  A treat did sound good though. He drew a light breath through a closed mouth. “Th . . . that sounds delicious, but—”

  “Please stay.” Sen looked at him with soft eyes. “I would love to hear about your family. And maybe you could tell me some stories about my parents, things they wouldn’t mention on their own. You’ve known them better than I have these last few years.”

  He returned her gaze. Her beautiful face was round, almost moon shaped, which showed more distinctly when she smiled. Her black hair, pinned up in the usual style when he met her, was now drawn back tight but then swept over with tendrils resting on each of the shoulders of her greenish-blue kimono. His resolve melted like steel in a furnace.

  “Thank you for asking,” he said, bowing slightly as he tried not to lose his balance. “I will stay.”

  Granted, he couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to. When she’d asked him to remain, it was as if his heart reached down and tied his feet in place. The only direction he could go was back to his spot on the floor. He knelt, sitting on the backs of his feet briefly before finally shifting to a cross-legged posture.

  Soft footfalls announced the return of Master Goami’s wife from the kitchen. She carried a tray of pastries in one hand and a pot of tea in the other. The tray was covered with small plates of various pounded rice cakes filled with sweet bean paste. She offered them to all, then refilled the teacups, and placed the teapot over the hearth in the center of the floor.

  “Itadakimasu,” everyone said with a nod of thanks toward Master Goami’s wife.

  Nobuhiro brought the bamboo cup to his lips and paused as the steam from the liquid rose and kissed his face. Sen. What could he say to impress her? Anything? He rubbed his fingers lightly across the lacquer and wished his words were as smooth as the wood, but he had ne
ver been good at conversation. He inhaled the tea’s bitter scent, hoping it would prod his thoughts. Nothing came to mind. He drank a swallow and then took a bite of the rice cake, as if the mix of flavors would provide a similar complexity to his thoughts.

  “Nobuhiro,” Master Goami said, “please open the door and let in some air.”

  Nobuhiro walked over and slid open the door, staring out the back at the garden. Maybe it would provide him with inspiration, but the moon had yet to rise and he could barely see the grounds. The chill from the breeze mixed with the sweat on his neck, slowing the flow down his back into a cold trickle. He shrugged his shoulders, wiping the back of his neck with his kimono. The nights were still chilly. What must it have been like on Sen’s return to Himeji?

  “How w . . . was your journey coming back?” he asked. “I would have thought it dangerous. Aren’t there bandits along the roads between here and Haibara? Wouldn’t they have taken advantage of a woman t . . . traveling alone?”

  Sen laughed a little and glanced away. The tension in his chest dropped through his body. It must have been an ignorant question. He felt as lame with his tongue as he was with his foot. Another way he didn’t measure up to his brothers. They had war stories to tell and could regale others with them. Toshi could chat easily with anyone. Uji could intimidate people with a glance but ease them with a smile. Both could converse with people in any strata of society, rare even for samurai.

  The best Nobuhiro could do was ask about her trip home. Foolish words at best. There were many samurai at the castle who could relate similar tales like his brothers. The only thing Nobuhiro knew about was working in the shop, stories similar to what Sen heard growing up. His life story was diminished by his brothers in his family and by Master Goami in her family. If any samurai at the castle ever showed an interest in Sen, Nobuhiro wouldn’t have a chance.

  A glimpse of Sen’s eyes pulled him back to the present. He came back to his place on the floor and returned Sen’s gaze.

  “I didn’t travel alone.” Her smile eased his heart. “My former master, Lord Akamatsu, and his wife were headed to Hokuriku. He received word the regional governor there would accept his services. He and his wife provided me safe escort back to Himeji and then continued on their journey.”

  He sat up straight and steepled his fingers. “Hokuriku? Then he aligns himself with Lord Tokugawa?”

  She tilted her head and conveyed a quizzical gaze. “You show the interest in politics I would expect of someone with your lineage.”

  Lineage. Another family reminder. Given how his father treated her at the castle that day, it couldn’t be a pleasant reference. But yes. He’d learned politics at his father’s side. One should be mindful of the travels of well-known, high-level samurai. Others might not follow in body, but their allegiances sometimes did. Lord Akamatsu’s followers would always remember.

  Nobuhiro glanced over at Master Goami, who smiled but said nothing. Master Goami cared not for politics. He would likely end the discussion soon. Nobuhiro turned back to Sen, who now seemed to be avoiding his glances as much as he had tried to avoid hers earlier. Still, he could at least discuss the topic with intelligence. “If Lord Akamatsu went to Hokuriku, then it implies his support for Lord Tokugawa. Don’t you agree?”

  Sen shut her eyes briefly and he held his breath as he waited for her to open them. She was beautiful.

  “I don’t know if he aligns himself with anyone,” she said, “other than doing what he needs to do to care for his family and staying true to his beliefs.”

  His beliefs? Lord Akamatsu was one of the leaders who’d embraced this new religion. He’d surrendered his castle rather than recant. Did he think he could practice his faith freely elsewhere? “Lord Tokugawa might not allow that.”

  “Though the governor of Hokuriku has ties to Lord Tokugawa, Lord Akamatsu feels he is far enough away there that neither Lord Tokugawa nor Regent Toyotomi would care to notice. Besides, Regent Toyotomi rules the country. He even has the support of the emperor, does he not?”

  Nobuhiro wiped his hands on his thighs, rubbing his fingers into the hemp fabric of his kimono. Unfortunately, it didn’t absorb like the cotton one underneath. He glanced at Master Goami, who seemed to be enjoying both his tea and the discussion. Odd. Why hadn’t he changed the subject? “Having the emperor’s support doesn’t mean he has the support of Lord Tokugawa. Lord Tokugawa’s only loyalty is to himself. As a child, he was a hostage of the regent’s predecessor, Lord Oda Nobunaga, when Lord Oda was only a regional governor. As an adult, Lord Tokugawa helped bring Lord Oda to power. Lord Tokugawa even sealed the alliance by executing his own wife and ordering his own son to commit suicide.”

  Sen stared at Nobuhiro. “Then why didn’t Lord Tokugawa take power when Lord Oda was killed?”

  Nobuhiro’s memory thinned. It was at this point in his life that he’d decided to run away. His father and brothers had been away, fighting. Nobuhiro had left before they returned. Since then, he’d lived on snippets of news from travelers. “When Lord Oda was betrayed and committed seppuku, Lord Tokugawa was away from home. It took many days to avoid the assassin’s samurai and return home. By the time Lord Tokugawa reached his forces, Lord Toyotomi had exacted revenge on the traitor and brought himself to power. Now, Lord Tokugawa bides his time and awaits another opportunity.”

  “So you believe Lord Akamatsu’s move changes things?”

  No. Little would change with Lord Akamatsu’s move. However, Nobuhiro craved to discuss it with his brothers. What did they know? He leaned forward, placing his forearms on his legs. “Lord Akamatsu was always loyal to Lord Toyotomi. If Lord Tokugawa moves against Lord Toyotomi or his successor, people will assume Lord Akamatsu has changed his own alliances.”

  Sen shook her head. “The governor in Hokuriku has offered refuge to several former Christian daimyos. Lord Akamatsu accepted. However, his only alliance is to Christ.”

  Christ. The simple, defined way Sen said that name, without hesitation or reservation, came across with conviction. She’d been through a lot prior to returning to Himeji. Did the faith that drove Lord Akamatsu to renounce his lands also motivate Sen? Nobuhiro stared at his last bite of rice cake.

  “Y . . . you are a Kirishitan then?” he asked. Timidly. Was he afraid of the answer?

  Sen flinched and then took a breath as if steadying herself. The word had stung. She peeked left and right at her parents. Master Goami’s wife was looking down and away. Master Goami’s smile had evaporated, replaced by hunched shoulders and a blank stare. Sen’s gaze drew Nobuhiro’s attention back to her. “Yes, I am a Christian.”

  Every muscle in his stomach trembled. “B . . . but the regent’s edict from last year?”

  “Yes, I know.” Sen rubbed the neckline of her kimono. “But I cannot change my decision.”

  Nobuhiro’s mouth opened and he struggled to breathe. It would have been simple for Sen to renounce her beliefs. Some Christians had. What about this faith pushed its true believers to make the choices they did? A sense of right and wrong? “A brave decision. I’m impressed.” The words sounded hollow.

  “Thank you.”

  He rubbed his chest slowly, but the tension remained. “What if the regent knew?”

  Sen laughed and it brought back that smile. “I doubt the regent will concern himself with someone as low as me. Lord Akamatsu was made an example because of his status.”

  Maybe, but commoners can die as an example, too.

  “Let’s not discuss this anymore,” Master Goami interjected. “No regent. No politics. Just family.”

  “Yes, Father,” Sen said. “I’m sorry.”

  “My apologies, Master.”

  Nobuhiro’s cheeks tightened and he looked back at Sen, losing himself in her eyes. Her decision to stay a Christian was admirable, but was it wise? He drummed his fingers softly on his knees. Were his master and his wife concerned with Sen’s decision? Even if not enforced, Toyotomi’s edict had already cost people their la
nd and homes.

  What if the edict was carried out more forcefully? Would Sen lose her position at the castle? Would Master and his wife be forced to turn her out? It wasn’t his place to broach this, but this family had cared for him for seven years. He owed them a debt he couldn’t repay.

  “Nobuhiro,” Master Goami said.

  Nobuhiro shook his head as his cheeks warmed. Master Goami’s direct gaze bored into him. “Yes, Master?”

  “I just remembered I do have things that need taking care of tonight.” The old man’s eyes glanced in the general direction of the workshop. “I need your assistance. Come.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Nobuhiro had long expected, Master Goami was finally ending the evening. He must be getting him away so his wife could discuss this religion with Sen. Nobuhiro chewed his lip. He’d thought of protecting this family and he’d overstepped his place. He had shamed himself. One more anchor of shame weighing on the boatload he already carried. Sen’s charms had mesmerized him. He regretted his behavior. Master Goami would address it in his time. Not Nobuhiro’s.

  He smiled at Master Goami, trying to hide his sheepishness. It was for the best. She was beautiful, but she was a Christian.

  It was not a good match.

  Retainers were the main customers of swordsmiths. Men such as his father and brothers viewed a swordmith’s workshop the same way they viewed a Buddhist temple. How would they view a swordsmith in a relationship with a Christian? He had spent these last seven years trying to make his father proud. To prove that he could be of service to people like his father, Uji, and Toshi. Even if Nobuhiro himself couldn’t fight, he could produce great swords for samurai. His father would one day see his contributions as beneficial.

  Not likely. Christian retainers were no longer welcome under Toyotomi. How would it affect his father and brothers if a member of their own family, even an ostracized one, was involved with a Christian? What would his father think if he knew Nobuhiro’s feelings?