by Susan Spann
Hiro hoped Kazu’s attachment to the child was merely a pretense.
“Lady Ashikaga will not welcome you today,” Father Mateo said. “She believes you killed her husband.”
Kazu raised his chin and squared his shoulders. “Then I must convince her otherwise.”
“It will help if I accompany you,” Akira said.
Hiro hadn’t expected that offer, especially given the way Kazu looked and smelled. It raised his estimate of Akira considerably.
“Would you?” Kazu asked. “Could we go now?”
Akira nodded. “I will explain that you were indisposed and could not have killed Saburo.” He paused. “But perhaps you would like to change your kimono first?”
Hiro’s frustration with Kazu hadn’t faded. The younger man should not have altered the cover story. His failure to meet them at Ginjiro’s ruined Hiro’s original plan. Still, Akira seemed to believe Kazu’s alternate claims, so maybe the changes hadn’t done any harm.
Hiro just hoped the police wouldn’t investigate the alleged assault too closely.
“If you will pardon my presumption,” Father Mateo said, “we should all get out of the rain.”
They walked together as far as the bridge at Marutamachi Road. There, Akira and Kazu turned into the wealthy residential district that housed the imperial palace and the shogunate, while Hiro and Father Mateo crossed the bridge and headed home.
As they passed Okazaki Shrine Father Mateo asked, “Do you think Kazu is safe? Akira seemed to believe him, but samurai often hide their thoughts.”
“Kazu can take care of himself,” Hiro said.
“Speaking of which, where did his bruises come from? And that smell…”
“Sake,” Hiro said, “mixed with what it becomes a few hours later.”
“And the injuries?”
Hiro shrugged. Every shinobi knew about self-inflicted wounds and how to cause them, but Hiro couldn’t explain that without also revealing that Kazu was more than just a man from Iga Province.
Moreover, Kazu’s wounds didn’t look entirely self-inflicted. Few men could strike themselves hard enough to split a lip and blacken an eye that badly. Kazu must have enlisted help, but Hiro didn’t know who the younger man would trust to do him harm.
Suddenly, a name sprang to mind. It seemed absurd, but Hiro knew it had to be the right one. He shook his head and smiled, though the expression faded quickly at the sight of the stranger standing in the road in front of Father Mateo’s home.
Chapter 21
The stranger wore a dark brown robe and woven sandals. Graying stubble covered his balding head. He stood in the street, holding the reins of a skinny chestnut gelding and a glossy black stallion that stomped the muddy ground as if impatient with the rain.
The brown horse wore a simple wooden saddle and a bridle made of rope, but the stallion had expensive leather trappings and a foreign bridle set with silver rings. It towered over the chestnut like a samurai beside a farmer’s child.
Father Mateo slowed his pace for a moment and then hurried toward the house.
“Samurai do not run,” Hiro murmured. He increased the length of his strides to match the priest’s.
Father Mateo slowed to a walk and made a nervous gesture toward the stallion. “That’s Father Vilela’s horse.”
“The black one?” As Hiro said the words, he realized his perception of priests had changed. Two years ago he would have assumed the nicer horse belonged to the wealthy foreigner, but Father Mateo’s ascetic nature had altered Hiro’s expectations. He now found it odd that a Jesuit priest would ride an expensive stallion.
Father Mateo didn’t miss the surprise in Hiro’s voice. “It was a gift from the shogun.”
“Interesting.” Hiro masked concern behind a casual tone. Father Vilela had never visited Father Mateo before.
Father Mateo ran a hand through his dark brown hair. “He must have news from Portugal.”
The brown-robed servant bowed as they passed but kept his eyes on the road. Father Mateo returned the bow, though for once he didn’t stop to address the stranger.
Ordinarily, the Jesuit’s adherence to Japanese etiquette would have drawn an approving nod from Hiro, but the fear on Father Mateo’s face deprived the shinobi of any satisfaction. Father Mateo had family and friends in Portugal. News arrived infrequently, and only tragic news would merit a personal visit from Father Vilela.
Father Mateo slipped out of his sandals and hurried across the veranda into the house. Hiro followed, alert but apprehensive. Father Mateo had not mastered the Japanese art of stifling emotion in difficult circumstances, and emotional moments made Hiro uncomfortable.
* * *
The shinobi had seen Gaspar Vilela only once, and at a distance, but he recognized the kimono-clad Jesuit instantly.
Except for his foreign features and the wooden cross that hung around his neck, Father Vilela could have passed for a samurai. His hair was so dark that not even a Japanese would call it brown, and he wore it in the samurai style, with a shaven pate and neatly tied chonmage atop his head. A hooked nose perched between his deep brown eyes, and beneath it Vilela’s mouth fell naturally into stern but neutral lines.
Hiro wished Father Mateo looked as much like a samurai.
Father Vilela bowed from a seated position but did not rise. Hiro and Father Mateo returned the gesture and joined the senior Jesuit at the hearth.
“Mateo,” Father Vilela said, “I hope you don’t mind my waiting.”
He spoke Japanese, doubtless in recognition of Hiro’s presence. The shinobi found that courtesy intriguing.
“Of course not,” Father Mateo said. “I am honored by your visit.”
“And no doubt, confused.” Father Vilela’s sternness melted away in the warmth of his smile. “Are you comfortable here? Now that I see it, the house looks rather small.”
“I have everything I need,” Father Mateo said, “and my parishioners appreciate humble houses.”
Father Vilela nodded. “If it pleases you, then it pleases me also.”
Watching the senior Jesuit, Hiro wondered—not for the first time—why a samurai client had hired the Iga ryu to protect Mateo instead of Gaspar Vilela. Both men came from Portugal, and Vilela was undoubtedly more important to the Church.
Hiro didn’t know the client’s identity and couldn’t guess at his motives, but the choice of Father Mateo suggested the unknown client’s motivations went beyond an appreciation of the Catholic faith.
As always, Hiro dismissed the question as soon as he found himself asking. So long as the client paid his bill, a shinobi would follow instructions, and the man who insisted on Father Mateo’s safety paid very often and very well indeed.
“May I offer you tea or cakes?” Father Mateo looked for Ana.
“Your maidservant offered when I arrived,” Father Vilela said, as if reading the other Jesuit’s thoughts, “but unfortunately I cannot stay long enough to enjoy your hospitality.”
“Is there news from Portugal?” Father Mateo ran his hand through his hair again, but this time flushed with embarrassment as he lowered the hand to his lap.
Hiro noted the flush with satisfaction. At least the priest remembered that in Japan, a nervous gesture was considered a sign of weakness.
“Not lately.” Father Vilela shook his head as if confused by the question. Almost at once, his eyes widened with understanding. “Did you think I brought bad news from home? That’s not why I have come.”
Father Mateo looked relieved, but the tone of Father Vilela’s final words mimicked samurai disapproval too closely for coincidence. Hiro prepared himself for unpleasant news.
“Miyoshi Akira sent me a message this morning,” Father Vilela said.
“Akira is a Christian?” Father Mateo drew back in surprise.
“He is not,” Father Vilela said, “though several high-ranked members of his clan have accepted the faith. Akira wrote to express displeasure with your treatment of the shogun’s serv
ants.”
Father Mateo’s mouth fell open. “I assure you, we mistreated no one.” He looked to Hiro for support.
“On the contrary.” Vilela sounded more like a samurai than ever. “You treated everyone far too well. In addition, Miyoshi-san expressed displeasure with your statements that Christianity is available to commoners.”
The hint of a smile passed over Vilela’s face, then disappeared. “He accuses you of believing all men are equal.”
“All men are equal in God’s sight,” Father Mateo said. “Should I treat them otherwise?”
“The Japanese are a complex people, with intricate social rules. We have made great progress here, but that progress must come on Japanese terms. Father Xavier left very specific instructions—we argue with the Japanese only on vital points of doctrine.”
“Equality before God is a vital point of doctrine.” Father Mateo’s voice rose in pitch.
Father Vilela raised a hand like a parent calming an angry child. “It is your manner that offended. You must learn to speak the truth another way. Samurai do not want to hear that servants are the same as noble men.”
“I will not exchange the truth for samurai rudeness.” Father Mateo kept a civil tone, but barely. Hiro had seldom, if ever, seen the priest so angry. “No man deserves ill treatment just because of common birth.”
“I have not asked for any man’s mistreatment,” Father Vilela said, his voice as calm as a midnight pond, “merely that you remember you do not speak for yourself alone.”
“I speak for men who cannot speak for themselves.”
“Do you help their cause by making their lords resent us?”
Hiro watched, impressed, as Father Mateo’s expression changed from anger to chastened realization and then regret. Few men had the strength to acknowledge errors that flowed from a commitment to moral values.
“I apologize,” Father Mateo said. “It would be wrong for me to tear down what you and others have built.”
“To be clear,” Father Vilela said, “I am not asking you to change your message, merely to remember that words have appropriate times and places.”
“I will apologize to Miyoshi-san,” Father Mateo said.
“Unnecessary,” Father Vilela said, “and impossible, since you will not return to the shogunate.”
Chapter 22
Father Mateo’s eyes widened. “Are you ordering us to abandon the investigation?”
“Not both of you.” Father Vilela indicated Hiro. “I believe you said Matsui-san helped you solve the previous murder. I am sure he can solve this one in your absence.”
The shinobi shook his head. “We worked together to find the Akechi killer.”
“You will find this one alone.” Father Vilela’s tone permitted no argument, which naturally made Hiro inclined to argue.
“Did Miyoshi Akira demand this?” Hiro asked.
“No,” Father Vilela said, “but Akira made his meaning clear. His message complained of Mateo’s behavior and said that the shogun didn’t want to trouble the foreign mission with further investigation of Japanese crimes.”
“What of me?” Hiro asked.
“The message indicated that your help is still desired,” Father Vilela said. “You are not a common servant, to be commanded, but I would consider it a favor—to Mateo and to me—if you would do as Miyoshi Akira requests.”
“And Father Mateo?” Hiro asked.
“Has nothing more to do with this investigation.” Father Vilela’s mind was made up.
Hiro disagreed, but even a samurai servant lacked the status to contradict a priest, and as far as Father Vilela knew the shinobi was merely a translator.
Father Mateo nodded once. “I understand. I will not return to the shogunate.”
“Thank you,” Father Vilela said. “We are making progress in Kyoto. Sometimes it comes at substantial cost, but the end result will be worth it—for commoners as well as for samurai.”
He rose and bowed, first to Father Mateo and then to Hiro. “Thank you for your hospitality. Pax vobiscum.”
“Peace be with you also.” Father Mateo stood and escorted the senior Jesuit to the door.
When he returned, alone, Hiro asked, “Do you really intend to abandon the search for Saburo’s killer?”
“Father Vilela told me to, and Akira demanded it.”
Hiro frowned. “You surrendered too quickly. You claim to believe in truth at any cost, yet you resigned without argument. Akira will think he was right and you were wrong, not only about equality, but about everything else as well.”
Father Mateo met Hiro’s gaze with calm determination. “I made the right decision. Akira is mistaken, but he was born and raised to believe himself superior to commoners. To him, that too is truth, not opinion. Arguing with his beliefs will never change them.
“Father Vilela is correct—I must find another way.”
“There is an important reason for you to continue,” Hiro said. “If Lord Oda’s men are spies, their arrival could lead to violence—and not just at the shogunate. I cannot protect you adequately if you quit the investigation and I do not.”
Father Mateo smiled. “I never agreed to abandon the investigation. If you remember, I merely said I would not return to the shogunate.”
Hiro considered the priest. Father Vilela might look more like a samurai, but Father Mateo thought like a shinobi.
Ana entered the oe through the kitchen door on the north side of the room. Hiro’s kitten, Gato, pranced along in her wake. The maid crossed to the hearth and removed the teapot from its chain. Lost in thought, Father Mateo didn’t seem to notice.
Hiro looked at Ana. “Did the broom handle split Kazu’s lip right away or did you have to hit him more than once?”
“Hm.” She straightened, kettle in hand. “You think I can’t split a lip in one blow?”
“You beat Kazu?” Father Mateo sounded horrified.
“He said if I didn’t the shogun would think you hid him.” Ana glared at Hiro. “Why did you let that drunken pig sleep off his sake here? You know we don’t allow alcohol in this house!”
“He didn’t bring any with him.” Hiro remembered the smell of Kazu’s robe and wished he hadn’t mentioned it.
“But … you beat him?” Father Mateo repeated.
Ana set her free hand on her hip. “I will not let Hiro’s lazy friends bring trouble on this house. Staying out to all hours, coming here drunk, hiding from responsibility! That lazy good-for-nothing deserved far worse than I gave him! Good sons stay home and take care of their parents. Shameful drunken carousing…”
She disappeared into the kitchen, still muttering about inconsiderate children who abandoned their aging parents to live debauched and useless lives in the city.
Hiro heard the front door open. He turned, surprised and a bit relieved, as Luis entered the common room. Until that moment, Hiro thought the merchant was still sleeping.
“Good evening, Luis.” Father Mateo bowed.
“Not really.” Luis waved a hand in the air. “Nasty rain and insufferable samurai.” He crossed to the hearth without returning the Jesuit’s bow. As he lowered himself to the floor in the host’s position, he shouted, “Ana! Food! And tea!”
He looked at Father Mateo. “I have to ride back to Ōtsu to fetch the shipment. The shogunate won’t issue a pass for shippers to bring the firearms into the city, even though the weapons are for the shogun.”
“Why not?” Father Mateo asked.
“Some hot-headed samurai murdered a clerk at the shogunate, and the bakufu office won’t issue new passes until the killer is caught.”
“The magistrates normally issue travel passes, not the shogun,” Hiro said.
“Not for firearms,” Luis snapped.
“I thought so,” Hiro said. “The shogun wouldn’t shut down Kyoto’s supply lines over a killing.”
Luis hadn’t stopped fuming. “The ban is on new permits only, and only for weapons. It doesn’t apply to other merchants
or to food, as far as I can tell. I can bring the weapons into the city myself, I just can’t hire a Japanese merchant to cart them here from Ōtsu.
“Typical samurai nonsense.”
“A murder didn’t cause this.” Hiro explained about Lord Oda’s approaching embassy. “The shogun doesn’t want Oda’s warriors sneaking weapons into Kyoto.”
The explanation only made Luis angrier.
“Ridiculous waste of time,” he grumbled. “These are the shogun’s weapons, in marked containers! But now I have to close the warehouse, ride to Ōtsu, and bring the shipment back myself—and with the price already set, I can’t even charge him extra for my trouble.”
Hiro suspected that was the real problem. Luis just wanted more money for the job.
“But you can bring the weapons into the city?” Father Mateo asked.
Luis nodded. “Police had better not try to seize them. Murder investigation or no, I’m getting paid for these firearms.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Hiro said. “The Kyoto police aren’t investigating this murder.”
Luis turned to Father Mateo. “How does he know that?”
“Hiro and I spent most of the day at the shogunate,” Father Mateo said.
“You’re investigating this murder?” Luis turned purple. “What are you thinking? The last one nearly got you killed.”
Chapter 23
“Father Vilela asked us to help the shogun,” Father Mateo said. “I couldn’t refuse.”
“But now he has instructed Father Mateo to quit the investigation,” Hiro added.
Luis shook his head. “Jesuits—almost as inscrutable as Japanese.”
Ana carried a tray of soup and pickled vegetables into the room. She set it down in front of Luis and asked, “Father Mateo, would you like to eat now too?”
“Please.” The Jesuit knelt beside Luis. Unlike the merchant, Father Mateo had trained himself to sit in the Japanese style. “Hiro? Will you join us?”
“No thank you.” The shinobi slid open the door to his room. Gato raced through the opening the moment the gap was large enough to admit her narrow frame.
Hiro shook his head and followed the kitten into the room. As he slid the door shut behind him he heard Luis tell Father Mateo, “I’m heading for Ōtsu tomorrow morning. I’ll be gone overnight and back on the sixteenth, hopefully by midday.…”
