by Steve Bein
“Aha,” said Daigoro. “Now, it’s been some years since I’ve had the honor of spending time with your daughters, but perhaps you’ll recall your Kameko was my grammar teacher. I remember how happy she was each time you gave her another brother or sister. As prolific as you’ve been, Lord Inoue, I can’t imagine you’re wanting for daughters of marriageable age. You’ll have a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old who’s perfect for the regent. She could provide him almost as many sons as you have.”
That last was a gross exaggeration. Toyotomi would need an entire village of women to produce the sons Inoue Shigekazu had fathered. Behind the lord’s back, people joked that Inoue’s intelligence network was so vast because he had a son or daughter married into every house from here to China. Another facet of his paranoia, Daigoro supposed; who better as a bodyguard than your own flesh and blood? Who better to command your battalions, manage your grain stores, prepare your food? No little girl of Inoue’s could ever hope to outproduce her own father, the man who counted children the way most men counted rice.
But certainly Inoue had offered one of them to Toyotomi. Daigoro could see it in his face. His black and silver eyebrows lowered ever so slightly; his gaze darted out to the horizon and back. Daigoro had struck the bull’s-eye dead center.
And now he feared what came next. Because he’d botched the Sora negotiations, the most valuable thing the Okumas could offer House Inoue was a marriage. And in that discussion Inoue held all the cards. He had no shortage of daughters to marry off, and Daigoro could only offer his own hand.
Only a few months ago, he would have been more than happy to submit to a marriage for his family’s political benefit. Back then, Ichiro was the clan’s prize. But now Ichiro was dead, leaving Daigoro as the eldest son of the Okumas. The costs and benefits of marriage were totally different now.
Daigoro cleared his throat. “I believe we were discussing a prospective wedding between one of your daughters and the lord regent.”
Inoue shrugged. “We were speculating idly about such possibilities, yes. But more pressing, my young lord, is whom you might marry. You’re the head of your house now. Shameful for such a powerful daimyo to be unwed, neh?”
Not as shameful as squandering my family’s most valuable bargaining chip, Daigoro thought. “I’m sixteen, Lord Inoue. I still have a year or two before bachelorhood becomes unseemly.” And a year or two to draw other allies close with the possibility of marriage. As soon as I’m spoken for, my family loses its best asset.
“Is that the fashion these days? Forgive me. I’m an old man; I do not see such affairs with the same eyes as you younger folk. Perhaps remaining unwed is not as shameful for you as it is for those of the older generations—mine, for example, or even your mother’s.”
Inoue’s narrow eyes twinkled. The lines around his mouth deepened, as if he were trying to restrain a smile. “Speak plainly,” Daigoro said.
“As you wish. How long has your mother been without a husband? A year? Longer?”
“What does it matter? She’s no dowager. The responsibility for House Okuma falls to me.”
“So it does. So it does. But if my young lord wanted to leave his prospects for marriage open, he might well marry off his mother instead, neh? Think of what a weight it would lift from you, not having to worry about her any longer. She’s started feeling the effects of her years, I imagine. It was a long time ago that I was her age, but I remember well enough.”
Daigoro thought of those wrinkles at her eyes, of how they’d multiplied in the last year. And he thought of how easily Lord Inoue could manipulate the Okumas if he managed to marry a son to their matriarch. Inoue was wrong: she wasn’t so old that her years were a heavy burden. The wrinkles came with worry, not age. Her grief was so heavy that it threatened to crush the life out of her. She was in no state to be married off, least of all to a bully from the Inoues.
And that meant Daigoro’s hand became all the more valuable. Not only could he forge a much-needed alliance; he could also protect his mother against predatory suitors—above all the predators from the wolf pack called House Inoue.
Lord Inoue’s eyes twinkled all the more brightly. “My young lord, I sense your hesitation. But as you said before, my sons are not the only ones seeking marriage; I have daughters too. You mentioned my Kameko, for instance. I daresay you know her well enough to remember how intelligent and graceful she is. An ideal wife for a bright young man such as yourself.”
Daigoro remembered. Kameko was as gentle a soul as any man could hope to meet. And as busy as Daigoro was in learning how to govern his clan and maintain stability in Izu, he had no time for courtship. That made Inoue Kameko a sound choice. He knew her. She’d taught him to read and write, and later taught him poetry and calligraphy. She was patient, sweet, kind, and conscientious.
And she was thirty years Daigoro’s senior. She would bear no sons, and the Okumas desperately needed sons.
That shifted Daigoro’s thoughts in a different direction. The last time he’d seen Inoue Kameko was at his brother Ichiro’s funeral. With her was a younger sister, one whom Daigoro guessed to be close to his own age. Kameko had attended out of respect for Ichiro, also a former student of hers, and the little sister was there as her attendant. But what was her name?
He could see her clearly in his mind’s eye. She’d worn white, with tiny red leaves woven into the silk. The leaves were red, aka, for aki, autumn. . . .
“Akiko,” Daigoro said. “What of her? She came to my brother’s funeral. That was very generous of her. As I recall, she’s unmarried, neh?”
Inoue’s eyes narrowed. Vertical lines furrowed between his eyebrows. He sipped his tea rather than speaking. There were only so many reasons for a reaction like that. Daigoro had backed him into a corner. But how?
However he’d done it, it wouldn’t do to let up now. The girl was obviously precious, the brightest star in her father’s sky. And she was important for some reason. But Daigoro couldn’t see what it was. He struggled to keep the uncertainty out of his voice, to speak as congenially as if Inoue were his oldest friend. “How old is your Akiko? I’d have guessed she’s close to my age, but if I may speak frankly, her face is as pure and bright as it must have been on her first birthday. It’s hard to guess the age of a beautiful girl like her.”
Lord Inoue finished his tea. Daigoro filled his cup for him, never taking his eyes off Inoue’s face. The wizened little daimyo studiously avoided his gaze. “Marriageable age for certain,” Daigoro said. “Unless you’ve got a husband in mind for her already. General Toyotomi, perhaps?”
Inoue’s gaze darted to the floor, then the wall, the teacup, the tabletop. Aha, Daigoro thought. I’ve got you. “Well, no matter,” he said, his tone rosy and light. “If she’s spoken for, she’s spoken for. Still, I wonder how one so young could have angered her father so much that he’d be willing to toss her out like a mud-stained kimono.”
That got Inoue to look up. “What do you mean?”
“Come now, Inoue-sama. Even the regent must bow to the coin. Toyotomi presses the war far and wide, but he seldom fights. More often he treats, neh?”
“You dare ask me? If it were not for me, no one in Izu would know the name Toyotomi, much less his exploits.”
It was a gross exaggeration, but Daigoro was happy to see he’d struck a nerve. He bowed, and in his most apologetic tone he said, “Of course. I meant only to point out that this is a man who buys his victories by giving lands to those who concede defeat. He expands his empire without expanding his purse. It’s risky, neh?”
“Risky?” Inoue scoffed. “It’s damned clever—and I thought you were bright enough to understand just how clever. Don’t you see? A defeated daimyo who retains his own territory thinks he’s won. He thinks mustering troops at Toyotomi’s command is no hardship, when in fact all the fool has done is to ensure that he’ll always be the one who pays to keep Toyotomi’s army fed. If the regent asks for ten thousand troops, then that is how many the loc
al lord must assemble, and in the meantime the man has ten thousand bellies to fill.”
“Begging your pardon, Lord Inoue, but the risk I spoke of isn’t Toyotomi’s. It belongs to his womenfolk. How many wives and concubines must he have by now? Imagine what it must cost to keep them clothed and housed in a style that befits the regent’s own household.” Daigoro paused for a moment, to let Inoue envision just how lavish that lifestyle must be. “It might not go so badly for your daughter if General Toyotomi were constantly expanding his personal wealth, but he isn’t. Akiko will be the smallest cub in a litter already starving for its mother’s milk. By this point those women must be clawing at each other for the smallest bauble. But no doubt you’ve foreseen all of this, which only leaves me to wonder how awful a daughter’s crime must be for her own father to throw her to the wolves.”
“Hm.” Inoue smoothed his slender mustache with a thumb and fingertip. He was otherwise speechless for a long, pregnant moment.
At last he said, “You see much for a boy of your years. You impress me. And I would not see my daughter become a discarded concubine living in a hovel.”
“Like any loving father,” Daigoro said.
“If I were to offer you Akiko’s hand in marriage, would you accept?”
Daigoro blinked and looked out at the sky. Had he just outmaneuvered the great Inoue Shigekazu, or had Inoue outmaneuvered him? Daigoro’s first goal had been to gain the benefit of Inoue’s spy network. A marriage to the apple of his eye would accomplish that. But his next most important goal was to retain his family’s most powerful asset: his own bachelorhood, and with it the possibility of alliance through marriage. Now, rather than trying to avoid wedding a barren daughter, he’d pressured Inoue into offering him his most desirable daughter. Or had he? Perhaps Inoue played the fool all along, hoping to get Daigoro to push him to just this conclusion.
Either way, Inoue had asked the question, and he’d asked it from a position of weakness. Had this been a duel, Inoue would have been on his back, disarmed and helpless. No man of honor could kill him in such a position. In effect, Inoue was begging him for mercy. And a true follower of bushido had no choice but to grant his wish.
Father, I wish you were here, Daigoro thought. I wish you could tell me the right thing to do. He had no doubt that his family would be stronger with the countless eyes and ears of the Inoues. Nor did he have any doubt that the old man seated across from him would bully his new son-in-law whenever and however he could.
Equally doubtless was the fact that if Daigoro said no to Akiko’s hand, Inoue would take it personally. He’d borne his silly grudge against the Soras for decades. No doubt he would use the full might of his spy network to hurt the Okumas. He might even look for new ways to marry his children to Daigoro and Daigoro’s mother. Daigoro wasn’t even sure he’d outfoxed the old man this time around; he certainly didn’t know how many more times he could pull it off.
And there was the last consideration: what Izu needed now, more than ever and more than anything, was stability. As lord protector of Izu, Daigoro knew his duty. A marriage between his clan and the Inoues would bring stability.
What should I do, Father? Compromise our family’s position in order to stabilize Izu? Or compromise Izu in order to leave our family better positioned for the future?
Daigoro had no idea what his father would say. He knew only that his father had an aphorism, one he’d repeated countless times through Daigoro’s childhood: A samurai makes every decision in the space of seven breaths. The path of bushido was not for the hesitant.
• • •
The feast that evening was a thing of beauty. The Okuma cooks truly outdid themselves: roasted sparrows so delicate that they almost melted in the mouth; soft tofu artfully sculpted and dyed; shrimp flecked with gold; sushi of every description: squid and octopus, lobster and roe, eel and egg. Sake flowed. Toasts were made. The scullery maids would be washing dishes until sunrise.
Then came the musicians, and clapping and dancing, and after much prodding Lord Inoue stood up to sing. Even Daigoro’s mother seemed to be having a good time—owing in part to the poppy’s tears, no doubt, but only in part. Daigoro himself could have used some of her medicine; his broken fingers still felt like they were made of broken pottery. He watched his mother singing along and smiled. If anyone ever needed cause for celebration, it was her.
An hour into the festivities, Daigoro finally allowed Katsushima to corner him. “I’m pleased to hear you’ll finally be dipping your wick,” Katsushima said, “but are you certain you’ve made the right choice?”
Daigoro bent closer, the better to be heard over the shamisen and shakuhachi players. “No. But with Akiko as the dowry, Inoue could have bought a greater house than ours. He sacrificed and we sacrificed.”
“Who sacrificed more?”
“I don’t know yet. But Mother is having fun, and that’s something I wasn’t sure I could buy for any price.”
Katsushima’s face darkened. “She is a liability.”
“She is my mother. What would you have me do? Marry her off instead?”
“No.” Katsushima said it a bit too quickly. “As dangerous as it is to keep her around, it is more dangerous to let her go.”
“Well, what, then?”
Katsushima said nothing to that, but Daigoro was afraid he could guess the answer. Katsushima had no family. He was as free as a wave on the sea. But he was right. Daigoro’s mother might be at peace for the rest of the evening, but he knew how vulnerable she was. She made the whole clan vulnerable. She’d already spoiled things with the Soras, and because of her condition she’d forced Daigoro to bind himself to the daughter of a petty, overbearing, power-seeking spymaster. The Okumas were weaker so long as Daigoro’s mother was among them.
Just like that, the music sounded flat to his ears and the sake soured in his mouth. Someone like Katsushima might have married her off just to make her another clan’s problem, then cut all ties so she couldn’t be used against him. That certainly would have been an easier solution. But even Katsushima could see it wasn’t so easy to cut emotional ties. And if she couldn’t be kept around and she couldn’t be let go, there was only one other solution.
It would have been so easy. Daigoro had a hundred different sword hands he could assign to the task. In truth it was the only sensible alternative he had. And Daigoro would never forgive himself for thinking of it.
9
After the most dizzying month of his life, Daigoro found himself on a balmy evening sitting next to his new wife. Cicadas chirped merrily outside the compound walls and the sunset painted the western sky with a thousand shades of orange. Akiko sat beside him on the lip of the veranda, her perfume as sweet as apple blossoms. He still felt as if he barely knew her—their wedding was the first time they’d spent more than an hour in each other’s company, and that had been only a week ago—but so far he had the impression that they’d get along well. She made him laugh, and that simple fact made him realize he hadn’t had much occasion for laughter in over a year. It was good to have laughter back in his life.
Better still, seeing his leg hadn’t upset her in the slightest. It looked more like a skinned snake than anything else, and prior to last week the very thought of marriage had inspired dreadful thoughts of trying to hide his leg from his wife for the rest of their lives together. He couldn’t bear seeing a woman’s revulsion at the sight of it, but how could he conceal his leg from someone who would see him daily in his smallclothes? Perhaps Akiko had been forewarned about it. Or perhaps it had taken her by surprise when she first undressed him and she sincerely wasn’t put off. Daigoro didn’t care which one it was. He felt only an overflowing swell of gratitude that she hadn’t reacted sourly.
And the discovery of sex made his life immeasurably better. He’d understood the mechanics of it well enough, and for his fourteenth birthday Ichiro had even taken him to visit a brothel. But at that age he’d been even more embarrassed of his leg than he was now,
and so the prostitute had only stripped herself naked and slipped her hand down the front of his hakama. Daigoro’s wedding night came as a nigh-religious revelation. Akiko was equally eager, and despite a touch of neophyte clumsiness in some of their experimentations, so far they hadn’t experimented fewer than six times a day.
Yet there remained the incessant affairs of state—this clan bickering with that one, Lord This and Lord That feuding over some perceived slight—and the affairs of House Okuma too. First and foremost was the wedding, the planning of which had consumed every spare moment beforehand and the paying for which promised to occupy him for some weeks to come. Between all of that and the constant temptation to chase Akiko back to the bedroom, Daigoro hardly had time to eat. He hadn’t so much as unsheathed Glorious Victory, to say nothing of training, though for that his battered right hand was supremely grateful.
Akiko ran a fingertip across his shoulder blades and handed him the next envelope. She had what seemed like an unending supply of them, some delivered personally at their wedding, others trickling in as the riders came and went with each passing day. Daigoro opened the newest envelope—it was cleverly folded to blossom like a flower—and discovered it was from Lord Yasuda, Daigoro’s favorite among all the Okuma allies. Daigoro thought of him more as an uncle than a military asset. Sadly, he was an aging uncle, and his many years were finally catching up with him. He’d taken sick, and so he hadn’t been able to attend the wedding even though the Yasuda compound was less than half a day’s ride away. Nevertheless, Lord Yasuda’s gift was most generous: nine beautiful horses, three stallions and six mares, along with wishes for many foals and many children. The aging lord himself had a new great-grandson, and expressed his wishes that Daigoro and Akiko quickly make for him a playmate close to his own age.
“Oh!” Akiko chirped. “Look, a delivery from the regent himself.”
“How about that?” Daigoro said. “I wouldn’t have thought news of our little wedding would have made it so high in the sky.”
