White Serpent Castle (6 page)

At this point Zenta looked up from his food at last. With the worst of his hunger pangs satisfied, he seemed ready to make some much needed contribution to the conversation. He addressed the envoy respectfully. “Perhaps you were present on the famous occasion when Lord Okudaira and his friend Lord Mochizuki spent the whole evening capping each other's verses to a beautiful lady? Their poetic feats were the talk of the daimyo's capital for weeks.” The envoy's expression grew freezing. “I hardly think that Lord Okudaira's love affair is the proper topic for discussion in the present company!”

Zenta's chopsticks fell from his fingers with a clatter. He sat completely still for several seconds, and then he roused himself and put his chopsticks on their china holder with exaggerated care.

Matsuzo went hot with shame over the public rebuke received by his friend, and for a moment he was filled with an acute dislike for the arrogant envoy. He looked at Lady Kaede for her reaction, and saw that she sat as motionless as a porcelain doll. Her face showed not a trace of expression.

During the next few minutes Zenta busied himself with his food once more. Suddenly he raised his head and addressed the envoy again, evidently willing to risk another rebuke. “Were you at the archery contest in the daimyo's capital last May? All of the daimyo's chief supporters must have taken part. What a glorious pageant it was! It was a pity that the weather was so wet. The muddy ground caused many horses to slip, and several fine archers lost through no fault of theirs.”

The envoy seemed to regret his harshness toward the ronin, and this time he answered more pleasantly. “I had to miss that contest, unfortunately. The wet weather started a recurrence of an old illness of mine.” He looked at Zenta in some surprise. “Were you there during the contest?”

“I was there in the capacity of an attendant,” replied Zenta. “Some of the contestants wanted a little coaching.”

There was a bustling in the dining hall. Lady Kaede had stood up, and she was directing her women to gather up the saké utensils. Cutting short the chamberlain's effusive thanks, she gave a grave nod to the company. Then she arranged her trailing skirt behind her and swept from the room.

With Lady Kaede's departure, the envoy apparently felt that the dinner party had no further claim on his patience. In spite of the chamberlain's eager offer to call in dancers and musicians, he could not be persuaded to stay any longer.

“I know what we shall do,” said the chamberlain. “We can take a stroll in the garden to dispel the wine fumes. It would be nice to do some moon viewing, and the more talented of us can make verses.”

When the envoy showed no interest in verse making, the chamberlain said hurriedly, “Our garden is noted for its miniature mountain, a most curiously shaped piece of rockery. We should be honored to have your opinion on it.” While the chamberlain gave orders for lanterns to be brought, the dinner guests struggled to their feet. There were some audible groans and some crackling knees. The diners left the room as quickly as good manners permitted, glad to escape the discomfort of the dinner party and find release in the garden.

Chapter 7

 

 

“We need more light here,” grumbled the chamberlain. “I just bumped my toe against this rock!” In a few minutes lanterns were bobbing here and there, held by the serving girls to help the guests along the treacherously twisting paths. In the flickering light the garden had the fantastical look of a scene from an old fairy tale. “Now, who is going to be the first person with a poem to the autumn moon?” asked the chamberlain.

Zenta noticed that Matsuzo was the only person to respond enthusiastically. His young friend would certainly not miss this opportunity to indulge in his favorite pastime.

The idea of a moon-viewing party originated with the noblemen of the imperial court at Miyako, who were experts at elaborate diversions. At first the members of the warrior class had been contemptuous of the nobles and their decadent life. But gradually many of the more wealthy warlords began to adopt the practices of the noblemen.

Zenta suspected that the moon-viewing mound in Lord Okudaira's castle had been built at the suggestion of Lady Kaede. A noblewoman herself, she was familiar with the life of the imperial court.

Zenta smiled to himself as he watched the castle samurai blunder about the twisted paths of the garden, dutifully uttering praises to the moon. As practiced by these provincial warriors, the moon-viewing party became a grotesque exercise.

Curious to see what the envoy made of all this, he looked around until he caught sight of that official. The other man was, in fact, looking in his direction, and he suddenly had the conviction that the envoy was simply waiting for an opportunity to speak privately with him.

As soon as the envoy caught Zenta's eye, he began slowly approaching. The chamberlain, talking without pause, followed his guest of honor. The other man's coldness only increased his efforts to please, and the envoy soon had the frustrated expression of a man who could not shake off a buzzing fly.

“Ah, these gifted young people!” exclaimed the chamberlain, pointing to Matsuzo who was already reciting his first verses to the moon. “How it brings back memories of my own youth when I used to compose poetry right in the face of danger!”

The envoy's interest in the chamberlain's youth did not seem to have increased since dinner. He merely gave a curt nod and moved off, trying to edge his way around the chamberlain's portly figure toward Zenta.

“Please don't overlook this beautiful stone lantern!” said the chamberlain, following his guest closely. “I'm told that it is older than the castle itself.”

Help for the envoy arrived in the form of his chief retainer, Saemon. “I know that you are an expert on poetry, sir,” he said to the chamberlain. “Can you come and settle our dispute? One of the men claimed that by giving the Chinese reading to the word, he would have the proper number of syllables in his poem. The rest of us said that this should not be allowed.” Zenta frankly doubted that there was such a poetic dispute. Most of the samurai he saw didn't look capable of writing any poetry at all, much less worry about the Chinese reading of a word.

The chamberlain, however, looked greatly flattered by Saemon's request and allowed himself to be led away. While he was arbitrating in the dispute, the envoy beckoned to Zenta, and the two men walked away until they were at the edge of an artificial pond.

But the chamberlain dealt with the poetic dispute all too quickly. Looking around frantically, he found his guest of honor. “Ah, yes, I see that you are admiring that rock,” he cried, panting a little as he ran up to the two men. “This is the volcanic rock that I was telling you about. What a matchless shape! After contemplating it, I always feel that my spirit has been refreshed!”

Saemon suddenly appeared out of the shadows. Just as he reached the group by the pond, he stumbled and fell heavily against the chamberlain.

Zenta heard a cry, followed by a loud splash. “I'm so sorry!” cried Saemon. “How clumsy of me!”

“You tripped me!” yelled the chamberlain, splashing and floundering in the water.

Zenta and Saemon both leaned over the pond and offered their hands. But the bank was muddy, and the chamberlain slipped back several times before they finally succeeded in pulling him out of the water.

“I certainly hope that the dye of your gorgeous kimono is colorfast,” said Saemon as he tried to wring water from his victim's dripping sleeves.

The chamberlain snatched his sleeves from Saemon's hands and glared with red eyes at the envoy's chief retainer. Then he turned away and stalked off furiously.

When his squelching footsteps receded, Saemon grinned at his master, bowed, and tactfully moved away.

For the moment, the envoy had the privacy that he desired. But it was not likely to last long, and he did not waste time in coming to the point. “You announced this afternoon that you intended to serve the new lord of the castle,” he said to the ronin. “Are you still of the same mind?”

“I still plan to serve the designated successor to Lord Okudaira,” replied Zenta. “Would it be too presumptuous to ask what the daimyo's exact instructions are on the succession?”

The question seemed to displease the envoy. “The daimyo is some distance away, and he is leaving the local situation to me,” he said coldly. “He would like to respect the wishes of his late friend Lord Okudaira, but he thinks it more important to have a seasoned warrior here as commander.”

Since Ume had said almost exactly the same thing, Zenta began to have a strong suspicion that the envoy and Lady Tama's people were working closely together.

“It is possible that you could influence the choice of successor here,” continued the envoy. “As you know, this castle is well fortified against attack. Therefore my master is likely to accept anyone who is actually in command here, provided that he has a legitimate claim to the succession.”

Again, these were almost Ume's words. Did the envoy hear them from Lady Tama, or did she hear them from him? Hiding a smile, Zenta said, “The chamberlain is in command here, and he can make his claim legitimate by marrying Lady Tama.”

“Lady Tama will never marry that upstart!” exclaimed the envoy. “He is only a distant relative, and she despises him!”

The envoy spoke so vehemently that Zenta wondered if he was in love with Lady Tama.

He cleared his throat and said cautiously, “Speaking of legitimate claims, what about Lord Yoshiteru? Didn't his father name him as successor?”

“Yoshiteru is too young, and this castle is too strategic for the daimyo to take a risk on the succession,” said the envoy impatiently.

Still more familiar words, thought Zenta and waited.

Nor did the envoy disappoint him. “We should consider Shigeteru, the older son. The daimyo would be more than happy to confirm his title once he is installed here as commander.” “And what is my role in this plan?” asked Zenta.

The envoy ignored the irony in Zenta's voice. “This afternoon in the courtyard, you not only disrupted the morale of the castle, but you also succeeded in gaining the respect of the samurai here. Having a swordsman like you in the right place at the right time can be a decisive factor.”

Zenta was silent. When Ume had suggested the same thing that afternoon, he had dismissed it as an impossible dream. But that was before he knew that the envoy was in alliance with Lady Tama's forces. He had to feel his way very carefully if he didn't wish to antagonize this powerful alliance.

The envoy said, “You must have come to the castle with the intention of acting in the succession dispute here. We are offering you an opportunity that any ambitious man would pray for. But if you persist on going your own way and acting independently, you may find the climate here very unhealthy.”

At this unmistakable threat, Zenta laughed softly. “Are you referring to pests in the bathhouse, by any chance? I thought that was the work of a servant girl with a childish sense of humor.”

The envoy's smile was grim. “It was a warning, as you know perfectly well. Next time the cold thing on your neck may be a dagger.”

“What if I become so frightened by your threats that I run to the chamberlain and report all your plans?”

This time it was the envoy's turn to laugh softly. “We are confident that you will not do that. You see, Saemon knows your reputation. From your past history, he knows that you would refuse to serve a master whom you despise. And how can you help despising that fat chamberlain with his gaudy . . .”

Zenta was holding up a warning hand for silence. He had heard a faint sound, like someone's foot crunching on gravel. When the sound was not repeated, he turned to the envoy and said, “The chamberlain may not have good taste in clothes, but he is quite capable of posting spies all around. You should be more careful of what you say. Otherwise
you
will find the climate here unhealthy also.”

“Why should I be frightened of the chamberlain?” said the envoy contemptuously. “He knows that the daimyo would send an army if anything should happen to his envoy.”

Zenta was beginning to lose patience with the envoy's arrogance. Trying hard to preserve a respectful tone, he said, “This is a wellfortified castle, as you pointed out yourself. If anything happens to you, the daimyo will not try to attack this castle unless he has absolute proof of the chamberlain's guilt. And the chamberlain will try to suppress the proof. He will have no trouble finding a scapegoat to take the blame.”

The envoy was unmoved. “Saemon will see to my safety. Before he kills me, the chamberlain will have to kill every one of my men, and that is not something which he will find easy to hide.”

“I suggest that you double your precautions to guard yourself, then. How many men do you have?”

“We have forty men, not counting baggage carriers.”

Zenta made no effort to hide his disapproval. “Forty men? That's not enough for your mission.”

“Time was short!” said the envoy impatiently. “I was not collecting an army in order to lay siege to the castle! Would it reassure you to know that these men were personally selected by Saemon himself?”

Once again Zenta heard a faint sound, and this time he knew that it was not his imagination. “Perhaps we should postpone our discussion, since it's getting quite late,” he murmured as he saw a dark figure appear behind the envoy.

Jihei had arrived with his noiseless tread. “My master sent me to see that our guests are not being neglected,” he announced. “Please tell me how I can be of service.”

The envoy looked at him coldly. “It is time for me to retire. I have no need for your services any further tonight.”

Then he leaned over and whispered to Zenta, “We must continue our discussion. Come to my room tonight when it is quiet.”