uniform was dirty from wrestling on the ground; he sported cuts and scrapes on his hands, arms, and knees. A fading purple bruise surrounded his left eye. Ever since his abduction, Masahiro had pursued his martial arts studies with punishing vigor, the better to defend himself. This was no longer just a game he was good at, but a matter of life and death.
Now he said, “Don’t joke, Mama.” His tone was serious, reproving, and adult. “You could have been killed.”
Sano hadn’t wanted Masahiro to know about the attack, had wanted to shield him from adult problems. But Masahiro had a way of finding out what happened; his sharp ears and his nose for information rivaled those of any spy in the government intelligence service. And he’d matured a lot during his experience in Ezogashima. Having survived it by his own wits and courage, he’d earned himself a new place in their family. Sano beheld his son with a mixture of love, pride, and sorrow.
He could see Reiko in the shape of Masahiro’s eyes, and himself in the set of his jaw; but Masahiro was his own, unique person, and he was growing up too fast. There was little room for childhood in their harsh world.
“Masahiro is right,” Sano said to Reiko. The boy sat straighter, gladdened by his father’s approval. Sano remembered looking up to and aspiring to be like his own father, now dead eleven years. How long before Masahiro became aware of his failings and the hero-worship ended? “You can’t go out again.”
“Yes,” seconded Masahiro. “You have to stay home.”
Reiko had opened her mouth to object, then closed it, taken aback by his authority. Sano hid a rueful smile. She would need to get used to having two men telling her what to do. This time she conceded. “For how long?”
She spoke as if she didn’t expect Sano to answer, and he didn’t. He only wished he knew how long this feud with Lord Matsudaira would go on.
Unhappiness shadowed her beautiful face. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to see Lord Matsudaira,” Sano said.
“Are you going to declare war on him?” Reiko asked.
Excitement charged the air as she and Masahiro waited for Sano’s reply. They thirsted for a showdown as much as Sano did. But Sano knew the odds better than they, and he said, “No.”
Indignation appeared on their faces. Reiko said, “Not even after what Lord Matsudaira did to my son?”
“And to my mother?” Masahiro said.
“It’s not the time for me to challenge Lord Matsudaira in battle,” Sano said. “His troops outnumber mine by too many.”
Sano’s army had shrunk drastically since last autumn. He’d come home from Ezogashima to discover that he’d lost entire regiments during his absence. Without Sano here to keep them in line and their morale up, Lord Matsudaira had easily won them over. That was just as Lord Matsudaira had planned when he’d kidnapped Masahiro, and Sano had gone to Ezogashima to rescue his son.
“And I can’t afford to run a war for more than a few months.” Sano had also lost key allies among the daimyo, the feudal lords he’d counted on to fund a military venture.
“It can’t be that bad,” Reiko said. “You still have many allies.” She named some, all wealthy, powerful daimyo with large armies. “You can win.”
“Let’s declare war!” Masahiro’s face shone with zeal and confidence in Sano. “You’re not afraid of Lord Matsudaira.”
Sano dreaded the day when he would see Masahiro begin to doubt him. Now he needed to give Masahiro a lesson as difficult to teach as to learn.
“Of course I’m afraid,” Sano said, even though he hated admitting fear. “A samurai who isn’t afraid of a dangerous enemy isn’t a hero; he’s a fool.” More and more often, Sano heard his own father’s words coming out of his mouth. “A truly courageous samurai masters his fear.”
Impatient, hardly listening, Masahiro jumped up and paced back and forth, Reiko’s habit when excited. “I’ll ride into battle with you. Together we’ll defeat Lord Matsudaira.”
Sano ached with pride in his son’s spirit. Reiko looked aghast. “You can’t go to battle. You’re not even fifteen yet!”
Fifteen was the age at which samurai boys officially became adults, when the forelock that Masahiro wore tied above his brow would be shaved during his manhood ceremony.
“A war could last six more years until he is,” Sano pointed out. “The wars that ended with the Tokugawa on top went on for almost a century.”
“I’m almost as tall as a lot of boys who are fifteen,” Masahiro said, standing still and drawing himself up to his full height. “And I’m a better fighter.”
“You’re also too modest,” Reiko said, tart in her fear for him. She turned to Sano. “All right, I don’t want a war, either.” She’d clearly lost her appetite for it now that she saw her son headed for the front lines. “But if you’re not declaring war on Lord Matsudaira, why go to see him?”
“To propose a truce. To make peace if I can.”
Reiko stared in disbelief. “You mean you’re going to let him get away with what he’s done?”
“He deserves to be punished!” Masahiro clenched his fists.
“The country doesn’t,” Sano said. “If we go on like this, there will eventually be war, and Japan will suffer. War involves more than the two top men fighting it. Should it spread beyond Edo, cities and villages everywhere will be destroyed. Thousands of innocent people will die.”
“I don’t care,” Masahiro said stubbornly.
He was too young for the consequences of war to seem real to him, Sano thought. Despite the maturity forced on him, Masahiro was a child, with a child’s limited understanding.
“As the shogun’s second-in-command, I have to care,” Sano said. “It’s my duty to protect the country and the people. And when you inherit my position, it will be your duty.”
Masahiro nodded, swelling with pride at the thought that he would someday succeed his father. Hoping he could hold his position long enough to pass it on, Sano rose to go.
Sano summoned Hirata-his chief retainer-and Detectives Marume and Fukida, his two top personal bodyguards. Accompanied by a squadron of troops, they went to the special compound inside Edo Castle where the Tokugawa-branch clan members lived. Lord Matsudaira, the shogun’s cousin, had the largest estate. Sentries were posted outside its gate, at intervals along the high stone walls, and in the watchtowers. When they saw Sano’s party coming, their hands flashed to their swords.
“I want to see Lord Matsudaira,” Sano told the four gate sentries.
Their leader said, “With all due respect, Honorable Chamberlain, you have a lot of nerve coming here. After what you’ve done today.”
“After what he’s done?” Hirata said. “What are you talking about?”
Noting the mystified expressions of Sano and his companions, the man smirked. “Looks like you and your people have lost your memories, Chamberlain Sano. Well, don’t worry; Lord Matsudaira will fill in the blank spaces.”
He sent a runner to tell Lord Matsudaira that Sano was here. As other guards opened the gate and escorted Sano’s party inside, Sano exchanged perturbed glances with Hirata, Marume, and Fukida. This was a strange reception that didn’t bode well for their peace mission.
They moved through courtyards and passages lined with armed, hostile soldiers. If not for the prohibition against violence inside Edo Castle, they would have attacked Sano. The air smelled of gunpowder.
Sano found Lord Matsudaira waiting in his reception room. Flanked by bodyguards, with troops stationed along the walls, Lord Matsudaira stood on the dais. His posture was arrogant, his expression murderous. But he was thinner, and visibly older, than when Sano had left for Ezogashima only six months ago. The strain of building his army, juggling allies, and battling treachery had carved new lines in his strong-featured face. The fire in his eyes verged on fever.
“What in hell do you want?” he demanded.
“I have a proposition to make,” Sano said, even as his hatred toward his enemy flared. He hadn’t started this quarrel; he’d been willing to work with Lord Matsudaira to serve the shogun, their master. It was Lord Matsudaira who wanted to be shogun himself, who saw Sano’s power as a threat. “I’ll excuse your attack this morning, if you’ll agree to a truce.”
