of his neck in an eddy of scar tissue, as cloth would twist around the haft of a spear. His vocal cords did not escape the damage. It was more than a year before he could speak again or even turn his head,and ever since, his voice had been more of a growl, gravel under a wagon’s wheels, the roll of distant thunder.
To Saito it didn’t matter whether the arrow had actually pierced the lord’s throat or only grazed him, whether he really did stalk down that archer or whether his revenge was no more than a tall tale. If a man rose to such stature that people made up legends about him and recited them as if they were true, that was testament enough to his ability. Saito would always refer to the lord as Ashikaga-dono instead of the - san used for equals or even the - sama he’d used for Lord Kanayama. He would always honor Ashikaga as a warrior and liege lord, regardless of what superstitious foot soldiers whispered in the ranks about hungry ghosts coming back to life.
Saito had been summoned to his general’s audience chamber to offer his report on the death of Lord Kanayama. Ashikaga let out a sharp half laugh when Saito recounted the kick that sent his companion through the bramble. “Do you expect me to believe Kanayama Osamu would strike a man when he had a sword in his hands?” The wolfish voice was bitter with disbelief. “Why did he not simply cut him down? What are you trying to hide from me?”
“Nothing, Ashikaga-dono. Nothing I have said so far would shield the late lord of any shame. You want the truth from me and that is what I have given you. I cannot explain his actions; he lost all semblance of control. I was loyal to him for many years, but Lord Kanayama died without honor and it was to spare him further dishonor that I took his head. If you still believe I am a liar, please allow me to commit seppuku to protest my innocence.”
Ashikaga’s black eyes turned down to the lacquered box at the foot of his dais. In the box was a heavy cloth bag, and in the bag was the severed head. “No, Saito-san,” he said, brooding. “You will continue your story. Perhaps he truly was insane. Tell me the rest.”
Saito related the end of the tale, from the deathblow to the funeral pyre, describing every detail except the swords. He had no fear that Ashikaga would recognize the difference in his tachi ’s new tsuba , forno one entered the lord’s audience chamber armed, save the bodyguards and Lord Ashikaga himself. The steward downstairs who had taken Saito’s weapon was not of a position to recognize the difference in swords, and so for the present Saito’s secret would remain so. But it was with strong reluctance that he surrendered the blade at the door. Even as he thought of it now, the singing whistle he had heard in the forest echoed in the audience chamber, the tip of the sword crying out like a swooping steel falcon. How could the steward not know this was a blade above all others? Just the feel of it was divine, even still in its scabbard. Saito eased his tension in the knowledge that he would be rejoined with his sidearm soon enough.
Ashikaga’s rumbling tones brought Saito’s attention back to the audience chamber. “You have been honest with me, Saito-san, even at the cost of your lord’s honor and your own. You were correct to have burned the traitor’s body; had you returned him here, I would not have allowed it. Your judgment is good, and both you and Nakadai-san have demonstrated your loyalty. You will not go as rōnin .”
Those words released the last uneasiness Saito had been holding, heavy in his gut since he arrived here. A samurai’s life consisted of devotion to his master, and without a master that life became purposeless. It was Lord Ashikaga’s prerogative to dismiss all of Kanayama’s samurai and let them go as rōnin , masterless warriors, to further dishonor the Kanayama name. Death would have been preferable; that much was obvious. Now Saito would not have to face such
To Saito it didn’t matter whether the arrow had actually pierced the lord’s throat or only grazed him, whether he really did stalk down that archer or whether his revenge was no more than a tall tale. If a man rose to such stature that people made up legends about him and recited them as if they were true, that was testament enough to his ability. Saito would always refer to the lord as Ashikaga-dono instead of the - san used for equals or even the - sama he’d used for Lord Kanayama. He would always honor Ashikaga as a warrior and liege lord, regardless of what superstitious foot soldiers whispered in the ranks about hungry ghosts coming back to life.
Saito had been summoned to his general’s audience chamber to offer his report on the death of Lord Kanayama. Ashikaga let out a sharp half laugh when Saito recounted the kick that sent his companion through the bramble. “Do you expect me to believe Kanayama Osamu would strike a man when he had a sword in his hands?” The wolfish voice was bitter with disbelief. “Why did he not simply cut him down? What are you trying to hide from me?”
“Nothing, Ashikaga-dono. Nothing I have said so far would shield the late lord of any shame. You want the truth from me and that is what I have given you. I cannot explain his actions; he lost all semblance of control. I was loyal to him for many years, but Lord Kanayama died without honor and it was to spare him further dishonor that I took his head. If you still believe I am a liar, please allow me to commit seppuku to protest my innocence.”
Ashikaga’s black eyes turned down to the lacquered box at the foot of his dais. In the box was a heavy cloth bag, and in the bag was the severed head. “No, Saito-san,” he said, brooding. “You will continue your story. Perhaps he truly was insane. Tell me the rest.”
Saito related the end of the tale, from the deathblow to the funeral pyre, describing every detail except the swords. He had no fear that Ashikaga would recognize the difference in his tachi ’s new tsuba , forno one entered the lord’s audience chamber armed, save the bodyguards and Lord Ashikaga himself. The steward downstairs who had taken Saito’s weapon was not of a position to recognize the difference in swords, and so for the present Saito’s secret would remain so. But it was with strong reluctance that he surrendered the blade at the door. Even as he thought of it now, the singing whistle he had heard in the forest echoed in the audience chamber, the tip of the sword crying out like a swooping steel falcon. How could the steward not know this was a blade above all others? Just the feel of it was divine, even still in its scabbard. Saito eased his tension in the knowledge that he would be rejoined with his sidearm soon enough.
Ashikaga’s rumbling tones brought Saito’s attention back to the audience chamber. “You have been honest with me, Saito-san, even at the cost of your lord’s honor and your own. You were correct to have burned the traitor’s body; had you returned him here, I would not have allowed it. Your judgment is good, and both you and Nakadai-san have demonstrated your loyalty. You will not go as rōnin .”
Those words released the last uneasiness Saito had been holding, heavy in his gut since he arrived here. A samurai’s life consisted of devotion to his master, and without a master that life became purposeless. It was Lord Ashikaga’s prerogative to dismiss all of Kanayama’s samurai and let them go as rōnin , masterless warriors, to further dishonor the Kanayama name. Death would have been preferable; that much was obvious. Now Saito would not have to face such
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