With her curiosity came her gift for tongues. The Jesuit fathers who taught her and her sisters the basics a woman would need were fearful of the young girl whose Mandarin and Cantonese were flawless. Her other basic languages, Welsh and Portuguese, were part of her family. The Japanese frightened them the most. When and where had she learned it? Was it a human language or the Devil’s own tongue?
The answer was simple. Since arriving in Macao as a toddler, she had had Asian nurses because of another of Kathryn’s obsessions. Although Benito’s business provided little better than a good living, Aderyn’s mother had felt a need for servants. Their nurse Hana, a Japanese woman who had fled to Macao with her outcast husband, cared for the children the longest. Aderyn had worshipped the woman, who took every curse and cuff dealt to her, and missed her after she died. She had honored Hana’s memory by remembering her language.
One of the maids touched Aderyn’s arm in a gentle way not unlike Hana’s, and the other woman approached to help take her out of the water. They wiped her body with small towels that felt good on her heat-reddened skin. Since they left her not completely dry, the moisture evaporated with a refreshing cooling sensation.
They medicated and dressed the superficial sword wound, which was more painful than anything. One of the maids held open a plain garment for her to put her arms in. The woman overlapped the front edges and tied it with a sash around her waist. The feel of soft, old cotton enveloped her. Wide sleeves hid her hands, and the hem came to her ankles. The other maid slipped flat straw sandals onto her feet. The snarls were combed from her hair, and it was drawn back and plaited into a rope hanging past her hips.
When the woman announced she could leave, Hamasaki came to life to escort Aderyn to a stone-and-mortar structure set off from the main building. The scent of hay and manure drifted from the nearby stable. Rats and insects scurried away from them as the guard led her down the hall. Spider webs dangled from the corners and draped in thick abundance across the doorways. Shadows clung to every wall.
Hamasaki unlocked the heavy door of the first room; the hinges squealed a protest at being bothered. He stepped aside and motioned for her to enter. He did not push her inside, as she suspected the Evil One would have.
She crossed the threshold into the cold, tiny cell with timid steps. The room smelled musty, as if it had not been used in a very long time. A weak sunbeam came through a small square window with iron bars high up on the wall.
Hamasaki grunted and moved back into the hall. As she stood in the middle of the bleak room, the bolt shot with a metallic thunk.
Aderyn kicked off the sandals, pulled the hem of her garment up to her knees and sat cross-legged on the rough stone floor covered with worn straw mats. Hungry, she did not foresee food being offered any time soon. Then again, she had not been ill-treated so far and supposed a meal would appear. This man for whom she was “prepared” would not wish a malnourished skeleton to share his bed.
A shiver raced through her at the idea of bedding any man. She would never have entertained thoughts of having the Evil One as a lover. What of the other? Looks could be deceiving but he did not appear evil.
Without warning, the horror of her position overcame her. Tears came in a torrent, coursing down her cheeks as reality arrived in a crush of uncontrollable emotion. Sobs wracked her as she went from kneeling to lying with the thin bed covering wadded around her face to prevent anyone’s hearing the loud wails she could no longer keep inside.
Her sisters and parents had perished. Why had she been spared?
At last, the lament stopped; and she drifted into an exhausted sleep, oblivious to her uncertain fate.
CHAPTER THREE
Lord Sanematsu had ridden away with his retainers to a small farming village five miles inland to collect the taxes to support his provinces. With war imminent at all times, the group of samurai drew the attention of the wary peasants--invaders from the northern islands of Nihon or bands of rogue samurai often swooped into small villages to pillage the farms and houses, taking what provisions and women or boys they fancied.
The industrious farmers and peasants stopped working to bow as Sanematsu passed. He nodded his acknowledgment and reined his horse in at the center of the town. There was no distinct area of commerce within the grouping of sporadic dwellings; rice and vegetable growing were more important than lavish living. The low houses were adequate shelter for the hard-working families.
A young boy ran to hold the warhorse’s head but avoided any eye contact with Lord Sanematsu, since to do so was rude and punishable. The boy knew, though, that Sanematsu’s reaction to a familiar look would not be a rebuff but a tousling of his hair.
Sanematsu Yoshihide was not considered an easily angered master; rather, more as a kindly older brother. When Lord Matsumoto was sent to do his master’s work, the town’s mood was different. A volunteer to hold the horse had to be pushed forward, and then several days later, more often than not, the boy would disappear.
The boy who held Sanematsu’s horse today had to fight his way from the group of his peers to have the honor. Like all young peasant boys, he dreamed of joining Sanematsu’s army when he was old enough.
Sanematsu slipped off the right side of his horse as an old man hurried from the common building. The daimyo reached out to prevent him from falling to his knees, knowing the old man’s joints did not take to bending. They stood to exchange their bows. The old man made certain his was deeper, to reflect his respect for his liege lord.
They entered the building that served as the town’s meeting hall and center of government. Sanematsu oversaw the business of tax collecting while his men carried bags of rice and a small amount of gold out to the waiting carts supplied by the village. He sipped tea with the village elders, heard their laments of crop failures and farming difficulties. He could do nothing about these, but he used the knowledge to justify their limited provision of his household.
Lord Sanematsu earned the respect of his subjects with his fairness and sound judgment. With this treatment, it was he who profited, able to count on his people’s loyalty. Keeping him out of war was a greater reward than rice or gold--a village starved and without means to support itself might use what resources it did have to join with an enemy to overthrow him. Bands of ronin--masterless samurai--wandered Nihon in a loose cohesion looking to farmers to provide support for their belligerent efforts, and hungry farmers were whom they preyed on to mount an attack to overthrow a daimyo.
When the teapot was empty and business complete, Sanematsu emerged from the building to reclaim his steed. The boy holding the reins was feeding the horse a sweet cake. Sanematsu concluded the boy had stolen the treat from a vendor, as peasant children seldom had funds to purchase things. He also had the look of a mischievous boy.
“And what would be your name, young horse master?”
“Hosato, sire,” the boy answered, proud to be addressed by the warrior. He stroked the horse’s muzzle to avoid Sanematsu’s eyes.
“You must be about thirteen years old. You were born the year of the greatest rice harvest.”
“Yes, sire.” Thoughtlessly, Hosato looked up to meet Sanematsu’s gaze.
“I often wish I were thirteen again, Hosato.” Sanematsu tousled the boy’s thick hair. “Do your parents honor.”
Hosato blushed. “Yes, sire.” He gulped a breath. “Sire, would there be a place in your army for me? It would be a great honor for me to serve you.”
“You have a sturdy hand with horses.” Sanematsu took the reins and pulled himself up into the saddle. “My horse master may have need of a young man to assist him in his old age. If your father will release you, come to Nishikata-jyo.” He reached into a pouch tied at his waist and removed his chop and a small scroll. With practiced hand, he stamped it and replaced the chop. “Present this to Uma when you come.”
Hosato took the scroll, holding it with the reverence one gave an Imperial summons. Sanematsu smiled. The scroll would give Hosato true celebrity status.
He watched as the boy looked toward the crowd. If the young man was a lesser son, Sanematsu could expect him to arrive at the gates of the walled fortress estate within days, as the farmer would be happy to release him to attend the daimyo’s horses and be one less mouth to feed.
He left Hosato’s village for the next, and continued until he had completed his expedition to six more villages. It would take him every day for half a year to finish collecting taxes from all the towns and villages in his ryo-chi. Because the province he governed was so broad, the task sometimes required daylong journeys and overnight stays.
He could have sent Matsumoto, staying himself at Nishikata to enjoy the fruits of his labors; but he did not trust Matsumoto to share his views on governing and how to treat the peasants. He also liked to show his people his genuine concern for their hardships and his delight in their joys. The brief encounter with the boy Hosato had made this trip worthwhile. Too, there was little of interest for him at Nishikata-jyo.
He returned to his city late in the afternoon and went straight to the audience chamber. There he drank more tea and ate small delicacies sweetened with honey and fruits, and met with his governing body.
As was not uncommon until a young heir reached majority, a Council of Elders had been established by his father’s will when the young Sanematsu first became daimyo. Sanematsu Shigeni had never thought much of his offspring’s military ability and hoped the boy would learn under the older warriors’ tutelage.
Sanematsu’s grandfather, Shigehide, had seen to it, however, that the council was not disbanded, so he could continue to govern through the young heir. Tradition required an able-bodied warrior to lead the army and sit in the hereditary position of daimyo. Yoshihide had nevertheless acquiesced to Shigehide, allowing his grandfather to remain involved, even to control the four old men, warriors with allegiance to Shigeni, who made up the council. He overlooked his grandfather’s influence, comfortable with the support of the older soldiers and wanting the help.
The old men reveled in political discussions, and they called meetings often. Sanematsu did not enjoy the long-winded debates and did his best to avoid attending. Today the council conferred with him regarding his alliance with the Shogun.
The topic of greatest interest was the rumor Ashikaga, the present Shogun, was considering appointing Sanematsu
shugo
--military governor--of the Satsuma Province. This would improve his position and increase his wealth, but also his responsibility to the shogunate. As shugo, Sanematsu would be required to maintain a residence in Kyoto. The council would go with him and sit in on the meetings to give their advice on the matters brought before the Bakafu.
The tent government of Ashikaga did not have authority over Sanematsu’s army, even if he owed the Shogun his allegiance. This did not mean his domain was safe when he was away. In their eagerness to indulge in all the festivities and vices the Eastern Capital had to offer, the council seemed to forget Sanematsu’s absence would leave the domain vulnerable. For that reason, he was reluctant to pursue the appointment.
He was already allied to the Shogun by the gift to his clan of the Satsuma Province of Kyushu. It had been presented by the Minamoto clan in return for the Sanematsus’ allegiance during the Gempei War in 1185, in compensation for the help of the Sanematsu retainers at Dan-No-Wa, where the Taira clan had been defeated. To be exiled to such an isolated ryo-chi, away from the center of government, was an insult for a clan so closely allied to the victorious Minamoto. It also meant the ruling clan feared Sanematsu’s power, making the posting a double-edged indignity.
Still, Sanematsu enjoyed a unique autonomy that came with Nishikata’s distance from Kyoto and because of the might of his military force. His ability on the battlefield allowed him to make his own rules and ignore those of Ashikaga’s he disliked. Seldom did he use the capability, because the day would come when he would be called to account for his actions.
The position of shugo would take much of this authority and freedom away.
“My Lord, I wish to remind you of your…prisoner.” Matsumoto spoke in a hushed voice at a lull in the elders’ conversation. The council perked up at his words. “It draws late, and I thought you would wish to deal with her before you retire.”
“You have neglected to inform the council of any prisoners taken from the foreign ship,” Shigehide pointed out.
“It is of little consequence, Grandfather.” He brought his feet underneath his hips, readying to stand.
“But are not all foreigners of concern? We must have an opportunity to question any prisoners,” Lord Kaihara insisted.
“I do not think I wish to have the council meet with such a barbarian before I do so myself.”
Now standing, he used his height as a way of intimidating the seated men.
“On the contrary, Lord Yoshihide,” Lord Imaizuni countered. “The council, as governing body of your ryo-chi, is obligated to conduct such interrogations.”
“I remind the honorable lords that
I
am daimyo of the Satsuma provinces and will do as I please.” Sanematsu firmly, but politely, cut off any further debate. “I am retiring to my rooms. Goodnight.”
As the sun set, he crossed the courtyard. His maid met him at the steps to his quarters and removed his sandals, leaving him with only thick black socks on his feet. He had put one foot onto the verandah outside his chambers when his two eldest daughters assaulted him. The adolescent girls ran to him down the wide porch.
“Father!” Aya and Hatsu greeted him in unison. The area echoed with their laughter.
The girls bowed to their father and daimyo, and then came to his side.
“You must come see our new dances,” Aya, the eldest and Sanematsu’s stepdaughter, insisted.
“Yes, Father, Aya dances so well,” Hatsu asserted. They gazed up at him in adoration and eagerness.
“And you do not, Hatsu?” His firstborn child was shorter than her half-sister and heavier. Both were pretty, attired in uchiki, the multi-layered ensemble of the women they were growing into.
“Please, Father.” Aya took hold of his sleeve.
“Come, Father.” Hatsu imitated her sister.
They pulled their great lord father along by the wide sleeves of his hitatare. His outer garment hung open over his inner shirt, which was closed with the girdle holding his swords. Sanematsu began to laugh as he considered the sight the three must make as he allowed the girls to drag him to the women’s quarters.
His girls, the delight of his life, used their power to persuade their father to do anything they wished. Their time in his household would be short, and their position was always in peril should any of their father’s consorts give birth to a brother. A son would be given all the power the girls now held.
“Good evening, Chiyo and Miyo.” Sanematsu found his younger daughters in the chamber with their nurses and the musicians. He folded his long legs beneath him and sat on one of the cushions a nurse provided. The little girls crawled into their father’s lap and cuddled next to him as their sisters began to dance.
Accompanied by a female samisen player, they moved with practiced grace, their uchiki making a colorful kaleidoscope. The performance was brief, as their study had been short.
“So, Father?” Aya asked. “What do you think?”
“Yes, is not Aya the most talented dancer you have seen?” Hatsu added.
Eager for his attention, the older girls huddled around him, the younger ones still in his lap.
“You are both accomplished dancers. I have never seen such delicate movements. You have worked hard to learn so much in so little time. I am sure your future performances will be even more delightful. Now, I must beg to be released to bathe.”
“Oh, Father,” Hatsu pouted, “We thought you would show us some of the dance moves a warrior learns.”
“Maybe later.” He handed six-year-old Miyo, who had fallen asleep in the comfort of his arms, to her nurse. “I am too tired tonight.” He hugged Chiyo, an energetic three-year-old, and gave her away, also. This freed him to stand. “Goodnight, ladies.”
He embraced the older girls to each of his sides. They encircled his waist to hug him in return.
“Goodnight, Father.”