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a fate, for Ashikaga had chosen to commandeer Kanayama’s samurai and transfer their loyalty to him. The change would be an easy one for Saito; he already revered the old daimyo more than he could express. It had only been a matter of whether Ashikaga would accept such fealty, and now that worry had been swept away.
    “Thank you, Ashikaga-dono,” Saito said, bowing. “My life and my sword are yours.”
    “I am sending my third son to Kanayama’s castle tomorrow. He will be the new lord there. You will accompany him and introduce him to his new home.”
    “Yes, lord.”
    “How large is your current fief?”
    “Five hundred koku , my lord.”
    “Now it is a thousand. When you arrive at Gifu with my son, he will select six of Kanayama’s finest horses for you to take with you.” Ashikaga noted Saito’s puzzled look and added, “If you had returned my corpse to my enemy, my spirit would have haunted you for the rest of your life and slit your soul’s throat when you died. You chose wisely, Saito-san.”
    Saito wondered what Nakadai had said when Ashikaga had summoned him to this room, whether he too had received such rewards. Maybe it was my suggestion to build the pyre, Saito thought. No matter. The lord will increase or decrease my holdings as he sees fit, and a good vassal should pay it no mind one way or the other.
    But his new lord’s approval assuaged any lingering guilt he felt about taking Kanayama’s sword. Ashikaga might have hung Kanayama’s body from his doorpost, or fed it to his dogs, or ordered Beautiful Singer to be melted down, reforged into a chamber pot. There was no telling with him. Better to cremate Kanayama as they had, and to rescue Beautiful Singer as he did. It was not as if he’d stolen the sword for profit. A good vassal paid such things no mind.
    All the same, when Saito returned home four days later with six new horses and a wide smile, his wife was pleased. Hisami was a beautiful woman, statuesque, not tiny and frail like the courtesans so many women tried to imitate. Of course Saito was long-boned himself, and so Hisami stood only to his shoulder. Among the other ladies, however, she held herself proud and tall like a hunting falcon on the wrist, sleek neck and gleaming eyes, knowing no fear. Today her kimono was pale orange with her underrobe showing the purest white. Her hair was, as ever, immaculate, wide set with two long pins retaining her bun. Saito knew for a fact what anyone else might have guessed: that the pins were actually knives. For Hisami was samurai like her husband, and equally prepared to take up arms and spill her life’s blood at her master’s command.
    She was delighted to see the horses—the late lord’s stables were excellent—and even happier at the expanded fief. One koku was the amount of rice it took to feed one person for a year, and five hundred additional koku would extend the Saito fief to annex the next town as part of its estate. It still wasn’t much, comparatively. Kanayama had been collecting taxes from some twelve thousand koku before he died, and Ashikaga’s domain was at least thirty times that, but a true samurai did not measure his wealth that way. Farmers and filthy merchants had to trouble themselves with such matters; monetary affairs were beneath Saito’s notice. He would certainly make use of that wealth in equipping new retainers with swords and armor, but the details would be left to his housemaid. Finances were a concern for moneylenders and women.
    As such, Hisami was delighted. “The lord must be very happy with you,” she chirped, beaming as he handed over the horses and accompanied her to the tea room. “Doubling your fief, and having you escort his son as well. As a bodyguard, no doubt. I’m sure that’s why he sent you.”
    A mouse-faced maid entered noiselessly, set down a tray with tea and cups, and vanished just as inaudibly as she had come in. “No,” Saito said. “Lord Ashikaga needed someone who knew