Disciple of the Wind (21 page)

“Oh?”

“House Yasuda has languished too long in the shadow of the Red Bear. Your father was a mighty warrior and a shrewd diplomat. No Yasuda will say otherwise. But his time has come and gone.”

“Speak plainly, sir.”

“You renounced your name when you treated with General Shichio,
neh
? And with it, you renounced your marriage. Do you stand by your oath?

“You know I do.” And never mind that Aki won’t hear a word of it, Daigoro thought. She insisted the law was on her side—he’d cast himself out of the house, not her—but in truth a woman had no say in matters of marriage. “Make your point, Kenbei-san.”

Kenbei swallowed. He glanced briefly at Azami, then said, “You are no longer Okuma Daigoro. There is no man to speak for the Okumas now, and therefore no Okuma to speak for Izu. That duty passes to me now.”

Daigoro bit his lip before he said anything rash. He could hardly believe his ears. And if he’d heard Kenbei correctly, the appropriate response was to beat him and his wife with a horsewhip.

That would have been Ichiro’s approach. It was tempting, too. But their father would have taken the softer path. “Let me be sure I understand your meaning. When I approached you to arrange Gorobei’s marriage to my mother, I did it to save my family from the depredations of a madman. But when you consented, you did it not to protect an ally, but to usurp my mother in her moment of weakness. Is that what I’m to understand?”

“She
is
weak, Daigoro-san. Would you honestly say she is in a fit state to rule?”

“We should question your fitness first. Need I remind you that your father is still alive?”

“For now.”

“Then
for now
you ought to obey him. After that, obey your eldest brother, and when he passes, obey the next one. Have you no loyalty to your own kin?”

“My kin have lingered far too long. I expected more sympathy from you, Daigoro-san. You understand what it is to be the youngest son. Now imagine you were sixty years old and your father still clung to life. Imagine your brothers showed the same vitality. If I mean to rule before my hundredth birthday, I must take action.”

Daigoro clenched a fist, wishing it was holding that horsewhip. “You ask me to imagine if my father and brother were still alive? I would give anything for that. Anything.”

“And live only as a servant to your house?”

“Until my hundredth birthday. Or until tomorrow, if by giving my life I could grant them a hundred years.”

Kenbei’s face grew somber. “I am sorry. I should have thought of that.”

“Yes, you should have. And think on this too: just what do you hope to become once you claim your father’s seat? You will never be anything other than a servant to your house; you will only become the servant with the heaviest duties.”

“So says the boy who abandoned his duties,” said Azami.

“Not abandoned. Sacrificed. To save my house.” And believe me, he thought, there are days when I am glad to be rid of them. The daimyo of Izu reminded him of nothing so much as squabbling hens. Impossible to silence, nearly impossible to govern, they presented the daily temptation to spit them, roast them, and eat them for dinner.

There was a time when Daigoro couldn’t understand why a born samurai like Katsushima would live as a
ronin
. Now he knew. Part of him wished he was like Katsushima, free as a wave. He would wash right over these two and roll back out to sea.

When the maidservant came with their tea, Daigoro dismissed her. His guests were not worth the price of a pinch of tea leaves. “So is that the way of it?” he asked. “We arranged the marriage of our houses for mutual protection against a common enemy. It served as our armor, but now you would reforge it into a dagger. Is that the message you would like me to deliver to Lord Yasuda? That you betrayed my house at the first opportunity?”

“Listen to you!” Azami snapped. “A tittle-tattle running to a grown-up.”

“One party to a parley, treating with the other. Your husband is the
one behaving childishly. Unless . . . well, perhaps he is not the cat, but only the paw. How much of this is your doing?”

“Leave my wife out of this,” Kenbei growled.

“I’ll thank you to show me the same courtesy.”

Kenbei set his teeth on edge. Daigoro could see the veins swelling in his temples. His mouth was a thin, flat line. “You have no wife. By your own word, she is your ex-wife—or perhaps your widow, if Okuma Daigoro is truly dead. In any case, you have no authority to speak for her.”

“Then why talk to me at all?”

As soon as he said it, Daigoro asked himself the same question. Did Kenbei have some ulterior motive for keeping Daigoro away from his family? Daigoro closed his eyes for a moment, the better to focus on what he could hear. Gorobei was crying and women were cooing at him. He heard Akiko’s lilting tones in the chorus. That meant she was safe. Up until this moment, it hadn’t even occurred to him to question her safety. But prior to this moment, his family’s closest ally had never threatened a coup.

If she was safe, then something stayed Yasuda swords in their scabbards. Perhaps Aki was holding Gorobei. Perhaps Katsushima was too near and too feared. Or perhaps, Daigoro hoped most of all, Kenbei had no intention of hurting her. Before today, Daigoro would never have dreamt otherwise. Now he could not get it out of his mind that Aki’s claim to power was stronger than Kenbei’s, and the day she gave birth to Daigoro’s son, the infant’s claim would be ironclad.

If it was a son. If she lived long enough to see him born. If Yasuda samurai did not cut them both down.

“I speak to you because House Okuma still looks to you for guidance,” Kenbei said, softening his tone considerably. “Support me. A man of my experience is better suited to govern than young Akiko will ever be.”

“Lady Okuma,” Daigoro corrected.

“She is no lady. She is a girl. Of what, sixteen years?”

“Who sits at the head of House Okuma.” Daigoro delivered each word like a punch. In truth he was angry enough to escalate to swords.

Kenbei conceded the point with a bow. “You see what I mean. It is all too easy for the men of Izu to see her as a girl, not a landed samurai. They already look to me, for the same reason water looks for low-lying places: it is in their nature.”

“No one looks to you, Kenbei. House Yasuda is the lowest and smallest of Izu’s lords protector.”

“And House Okuma is the highest of them. I will have that seat whether you like it or not, so why not come along willingly? Support me and I will see to it that Akiko and your mother live in comfort for the rest of their days.”

“They already live in comfort. The only one who threatens to disturb that is you. Know your place, Kenbei.”

Azami snorted like an angry dog. Daigoro would not have been surprised to see her bare her teeth. “You tell my husband to know his place? You’re nothing more than a common criminal!”

“Not so common, or else you and your husband would not treat with me.”

“I do not need to,” Kenbei said. “I had hoped for your blessing, but if you will not give it freely, then I will take House Okuma by other means.”

“Have you lost your wits? The Okumas and Yasudas have not gone to war for generations. Our alliance is the only reason the Soras and Inoues did not gobble us up years ago. The only reason Izu remains independent is that
we
force the lords protector to maintain a unified front. So why draw swords now?”

“I will not make war with steel when I can do it with gold. House Okuma’s coffers are nearly empty, Daigoro-san. I will call in all of your debts. Since your family cannot pay in coin, I will force them to pay with their other holdings. I will take their home away shingle by shingle if I must, and leave them sleeping in the rain.”

A derisive laugh escaped Daigoro’s lips. “I would have thought to
hear that strategy from your wife, not from you. Money is a woman’s weapon.”

The muscles stood out in Kenbei’s cheeks. “My father speaks highly of you. I had not thought to encounter such stubbornness.”

“You must not have listened to him very carefully. What you see in me is not stubbornness, it is honor.”

“Where is the honor in allowing a sixteen-year-old girl to govern your house? Surely you can see the wisdom in what I propose. Let the younger Lady Okuma raise her child in peace. Together we can restore your mother’s status as dowager. We will establish her as Lady Yasuda Okuma-no-kami, Protector of the Okumas. She will have sixteen years of peaceful rule before her husband comes of age.”

“Peaceful rule, but in name only. No doubt you would be generous enough to step in and speak on your grandson’s behalf.”

“Only on the most important matters.”

“And who would decide which matters are ‘most important’?” Daigoro jeered, making no effort to conceal his scorn. This had gone on quite long enough. “You intend to unite our clans under one banner—a green banner, a Yasuda banner. You would make the Okumas your vassal.”

“As is only just, if House Okuma cannot manage its own affairs.”

Daigoro pushed himself to his feet. It took some effort; his withered right leg made everything more difficult than it should have been. In that regard it was just like Yasuda Kenbei. “We’re through talking,” he said. “Get out.”

Kenbei’s jaw muscles flexed again. He looked like a squirrel with nuts in its mouth. “I thought you would be more reasonable.”

“I thought you would not forget your honor. How is it that a man as great as your father had so little influence on you?”

Kenbei looked at his wife. It was such a fleeting glance that Daigoro could hardly be sure he’d seen it, but there it was. Now everything began to make sense. Daigoro knew so little about money himself that it would never have occurred to him to wage a financial
war. A man of
bushido
was supposed to be above such venal concerns. He left such matters to his wife. No doubt Yasuda Jinbei had taught his sons just that.

But this son did not heed the lesson. He’d spent his entire life being passed up by his brothers. In a greater house perhaps that would not be so bad, but the Yasudas were the least of Izu’s lords protector. That made Kenbei the smallest of the smallest.

Then he married a woman their father despised. Daigoro remembered the first time he and Lord Yasuda had spoken of Azami; Yasuda described her as a she-bear, and claimed she was at least as dangerous as Shichio. Together she and Kenbei had raised a pack of profligate sons—mountain monkeys, as their grandfather called them—and not one of them had made a name for himself. Now Kenbei was sixty, Azami forty, and they were without a legacy. Was it so surprising that they wanted to purchase one?

Yes, Daigoro decided. It
was
a surprise, or at least it should have been. Kenbei was samurai. His goal should have been to earn his legacy through deeds, and then to be completely dismissive of it. To value fame was to cling to selfishness and permanence. Both of those words should have been bitter in his mouth. Perhaps the aristocracy might develop a taste for them, but for samurai they were poisonous.

So this financial war was not his doing, and neither was it Azami’s. Not solely. They had concocted this scheme together, with no regard for
bushido’s
demands. Once again, Daigoro found himself facing an opponent he could not understand. First his father-in-law, then Shichio, then Kenbei. Why could they not just draw swords and settle their differences like men?

Daigoro shook his head and sighed. “Have your war, then. Piss on what little honor you have left. But know this: I will send pigeons to your father and all your brothers. They will fly from this place before you do. I will tell your kinsmen exactly what you told me, and let them be the ones to judge you.”

Kenbei and Azami shared a knowing glance. Azami smirked.

She didn’t need to say any more. Daigoro shook his head again,
chuckling ruefully. “Lord Yasuda’s pigeon keeper is your man. Of course. What about your brothers? Have you bought their pigeon keepers too?”

“No,” Kenbei said. “Not that it matters. You have no pigeons to send. It seems a fox broke into the Okuma coop a few nights past. There were no survivors.”

Daigoro stormed out of the room. At the doorway he stopped himself. Without turning to look at them, he said, “Is this your idea of warfare? Coins as weapons, and innocent birds as the first casualties? And what did you gain by it? I can be at your father’s side before sunrise.”

“You could, if you were not a wanted man.”

Daigoro gripped the doorframe as if he meant to strangle it to death. Mercifully it was his left hand that seized the wood; in his right, he might have rebroken some fingers. “You told me you valued our alliance,” he said through gritted teeth.

“And you began this conversation by saying you were eternally grateful to me for not handing you over to your enemy. Yet when I ask a simple thing of you, how do you repay me? With scorn. Is that what you call eternal gratitude?”

Daigoro spun around and rushed them. Kenbei and Azami were still kneeling on the tatami; they could only shrink away as he drew close enough to strike. Azami raised her hands as if they would protect her. Her husband fumbled for his katana but seemed to have forgotten where he kept it.

Abruptly Daigoro drew himself short, out of Kenbei’s range but well within Glorious Victory’s considerable reach. “I can take both of your heads in one stroke. And I should. It pains me to see a good friend’s son bring such shame upon himself. If I killed you now, would your brothers come for vengeance or would they come to thank me?”

Kenbei and Azami responded only with cringing silence. Their faces were red and sweating.

“I thank you for your service to House Okuma,” Daigoro said.
“Giving up your grandson was a noble sacrifice. Perhaps in time I will allow you to see him again.”

Kenbei’s mouth opened in a little O. Azami’s bunched up as if she meant to spit venom. “And I sincerely thank you for your ideas about my mother’s title,” Daigoro went on. “I will arrange to have it passed on to her husband. But Yasuda Okuma-no-kami is too cumbersome,
neh
? Better to give a little lord a little name. I think he will enjoy the name Okuma-no-kami, Protector of the Okumas, and never miss the Yasuda. I cannot draw your blood from his veins, but I can ensure that he will never know he is descended from your twisted, sickly branch of the Yasuda tree.”