The Seabird of Sanematsu (7 page)

And every female who came to his bed knew this. Each courtesan hoped to find her body quickened with Lord Sanematsu’s heir. His repulsion at facing such a dilemma with each pillowing made his life all the more stressful.

Tsuta was his defense. He had first seen her during a visit to a teahouse in Miyazaki on Kyushu’s east coast when she had been a thirteen-year-old virgin. At fourteen, when she was destined to become a Courtesan of the First Rank, Sanematsu called her to his bed. He had had few mistresses before her, and since, none. Several concubines did reside in the castle, but they were seldom called upon, as Tsuta tended every need with accomplished skill. This, as he’d planned, kept him from being confronted with more than one baby a year whose fate he must decide. After two years, Tsuta had not been fruitful, and he was content.

His last wife had known how much her husband dreaded such predicaments. When Masa’s belly swelled from an infant that was not his, she had chosen death, fulfilling her duty to him.

It had taken little effort to know who fathered the child. He had spent one year in Kyoto and, from there, gone to the battlefield without a visit to his yashiki. Returning to Nishikata three months later, he found his wife heavy with child. During his absence, the closest man to Lady Masa had been the commander-in-chief of the garrison--Matsumoto.

Why she had waited until his return to fulfill her giri was something he could never figure out. She should have corrected her mistake before it became so obvious, before the whole of Nishikata could see. A wife should do all she could to prevent dishonor to her husband, even if it meant death. Perhaps Matsumoto had made a plan to destroy him before his return. Or maybe she had hoped he would allow her to live in disgrace because of his gentle nature. She failed to grasp how well he had been trained as a warrior.

Sanematsu shivered now, recalling the confrontation. He had shouted and raged while she knelt before him, disheveled and in tears, beseeching him to grant her wish to commit seppuku. She pleaded to be allowed to bring back his harmony and apologized for her wrongdoing.

He could have refused. The child, if male, would not be his heir. If he cast them out, their lives would not be worth much. This way, they died with the highest honor.

“I must ask your permission, sire,” Matsumoto’s voice broke into his thoughts. “to end my life with honor.” He inclined his body toward Sanematsu, his head touching the floor in front of him. “I have lost much face with your belief that I could do such a dishonorable thing. I cannot live with such shame.”

“I am afraid I cannot allow that.” The refusal was as empty as Matsumoto’s request. If his former friend had believed death necessary, he would have spoken of honor instead of face, for honor was far above face. “I need you alive to serve me. There will be no more discussion on the subject.”

Matsumoto sat erect and looked at him. His eyes told Sanematsu he had not heard the last on the matter, but it would come to haunt him another day. Both men stood.

“I do not want to hear that you have touched this barbarian.” Sanematsu glared at his general. “In any manner.”

“I would not think of causing you any disgrace, my lord.” Matsumoto spoke through gritted teeth. “So, you have decided the barbarian’s future?”

“That is not in my power. It is for her karma to decide. I find her…interesting. This girl has something I have never seen in our women. I want to find out if she can think. If she has wit. I want to talk with her,” Sanematsu said, almost to himself.

“Then she does speak?” Matsumoto’s hopeful and inquisitive tone showed his interest in the barbarian for his own ends.

“It is hard to tell.” He hastened to cover his slip. “She speaks a strange sort of language, familiar but different from the language of the gods. It will take some time to sort out and to teach her the proper words.” He straightened his shoulders and snapped, “Maybe you should spend more time at your home or with your consorts. Then you would have no need to think with your loins.”

Sanematsu Yoshihide strode away; his stockinged feet made no sound on the polished floor. He left no hint as to what he would do next.

CHAPTER SIX

Matsumoto sat alone to wonder at Sanematsu’s speech. He doubted the daimyo had cared for Masa as much as his words suggested--Sanematsu cared for no one, especially his wives. The women accorded the title “Lady” were a means to an end, their one duty to produce a male child of Sanematsu Yoshihide of the Minamoto clan.

A vulgar grin curved his mouth as he thought of his lord’s confirmation of the rumor spreading through the castle. Matsumoto had managed to sire the heir to the province, and Sanematsu had been denied it. Masa had stolen the coup d’grace from Matsumoto, but she had taken the easy path from her husband, also.

His anger at Sanematsu’s admonition about the barbarian increased his determination to reverse the years of history. Always having to kowtow to the daimyo, his duty was to die before Sanematsu. How he would love to have Sanematsu die first. Then Satsuma Province would be his.

Patience. Patience, and it will all be yours.

He would have to be very careful. If he wanted to rule, he must first keep the vulnerable Lord Sanematsu in power until the time came when he could be rid of him and move into the position himself. If Sanematsu’s behavior continued, as with the barbarian ship, it would undermine the respect and fear the men had for their master and lead to mutiny. An uprising was in Matsumoto’s scheme, but now was not the time. Other plans must be laid first for him to emerge victorious.

Matsumoto hid his contempt for his master’s strategy regarding the girl, letting the feeling fester. Sanematsu wished to
talk
with her. He could think of many more amusing uses for a woman, and they had nothing to do with talk.

I am more of a man than my lord is.

He replaced his swords into his girdle and, smiling with confidence, left the shrine.

**
*

Aderyn spent a free solitary hour sitting in her room, looking out over the water broken by large rocks far offshore. The same rocks that had ruptured the ship, they reminded her of the day past. It seemed so remote, a horrible dream from which she had awakened at last.

Why was she alive?

The more she thought about the outcome of the battle, the more it made sense. She could not say she understood God’s plan for her, but this had to be His design. God, in all His wisdom, knew she alone had a chance to survive in the Japans. She was the only one who could speak the language, the only one willing to tolerate the Eastern lifestyle or with any desire to learn more about the people, the only one with common sense enough not to get hysterical if something was different.

She never understood her mother and sisters’ acquiescence to remain, first, on the ship then, later, in the small house near the wharf. Forbidden to go ashore or leave the yard to explore Macao, she broke the prohibitions whenever she had the chance. She lived for the days when her father would take her to the docks with him or to the warehouses along the quays; and she drank in the strangeness, devouring the sights and sounds as she did the treats Benito would buy her.

Even though it shamed her, Aderyn could not grieve for her family. Did shock prevent it? Perhaps it was too soon to mourn. Maybe her sisters had been right. When she shut them out of her world, they claimed she was heartless and cruel.

As the youngest, she had been the object of their contempt. They thought her love of books foolish, her desire to leave home and mingle with the Asians utterly stupid. Her mother, unhappy aboard ship and miserable ashore, made all their lives wretched. Aderyn loved her father, but as she grew older and life bore down on him, she recalled his harshness more than his gentleness.

She remembered one conversation they’d had when she was fourteen. They sat at a table in the dark corner of a Portuguese drinking house, a number of mugs of rich red wine having loosened his tongue. The story of the first time he and Kathryn met rolled out of his mouth; her mother’s version was not too different.

What fascinated--and scared--her was that he likened her to the young Kathryn. Would she grow to be such a fishwife? On that very evening, she began dreading marriage.

Her life here would give her a chance at a happier existence. She would no longer have to fear turning into her mother, since there was not much chance of her finding a man to marry. Too, there was the possibility she would not live to see tomorrow.

Sachi returned to her room and brought the news Lord Sanematsu wished to see her. A million questions sprang into her mind as Sachi fixed a ribbon on her braid. She declined the cosmetics the woman offered--her hands trembled so that trying to apply any face paint would end in sloppy disaster. Let him see the unadorned her and be content. Was she a piece of goods to be perfected for a buyer to appraise?

She wore the red uchiki Sachi had dressed her in that morning. Try as she might, though, she could not convince the material to lie over her curves, which caused the line of the garment to be misshapen.

Aderyn made her long way to the audience chamber. What should she feel in her position? She should hate Sanematsu for killing her family, but she had overheard him say that part had been Matsumoto’s idea. He had ordered her life spared. Was she rationalizing? All she knew was that this strange man controlled her fate.

What if she were to become his concubine? What would she do if her freedom were lost and her dignity cast aside? She set her mouth and pushed her shoulders back. He would not force her into his bed! If he chose to take her against her will, this man would find a warrior to contend with as brave as any in his army.

**
*

Sanematsu waited, alone, for the women. At this hour, his grandfather and the council were resting, and he could overlook their order to be included in any audience with the barbarian woman.

He was tired of the old men who spent their hours napping, playing Goh, practicing the tea ceremony and planning how to run his fief. He had, from time to time, entertained thoughts of renouncing his position, but then reality would step in and his hopes of a life of his own would vanish. He submitted to the council’s interference because it was easier.

Early in life, he had learned how to take the path of least resistance out of any dilemma. He disliked confrontation, going out of his way to avoid it. His birthright forced him to cultivate an aggressive, stern character, to learn the ferocity of the
bushi
. Contempt for those beneath him was ingrained into his being. He had learned to be quick to anger and to punish but could never justify such responses. To react with violence and gruffness to every slight or imperfection was not in his makeup.

He rode to war only after all avenues of peace were exhausted. Servants who erred in some manner were sent away instead of slain. He overlooked slight and unintentional insults.

Other warriors gave him a questioning eye, but he did not have to answer to them. He was daimyo of the Satsuma Province, a law unto himself until he no longer breathed or was, like his grandfather, ineligible to rule.

His true personality was patient, easy-going. This made him appear an indecisive ruler, especially when he allowed the Council of Elders to make the decisions. He accepted their advice in the proper manner so he would forfeit nothing, yet he lost confidence in himself each time, becoming less and less a leader, all for the sake of his sanity.

When he acted out of whim, as he did with this meeting, he regained some part of himself. It reminded the council of their position, that Lord Sanematsu Yoshihide ruled Satsuma Province, not Lord Shigehide and the Council of Elders. He would deal with the barbarian in his own way; use her, if possible, as a tool against them. He would mingle his karma with hers, no matter how briefly.

Only two women knew the girl spoke their language, and both would keep the secret unto death, if necessary. His slip of the tongue at the shrine, however, had given Matsumoto a hint about it.

He heard his guard speaking with Sachi. The perfect choice to befriend the barbarian, Sachi was the wife of one of his retainers. Of samurai birth, loyal and intelligent, she would train the girl well and make herself a permanent ally.

The woman was here, and he was anxious, almost nervous. He snorted and cast the ridiculous feelings off. She was a woman! A barbarian female, at that. She should not be allowed to cause this turmoil.

The shoji slid back, and the women entered, led by his guard. They fell to their knees and bowed to touch forehead to floor. Sanematsu inclined his head, and all rose.

“My lord,” the guard spoke. “Sachi-sama, wife of Hikita-uji, and the foreigner.”

“Yes. Come,” Sanematsu acknowledged curtly.

The guard moved back to the doorway and sat on his heels, sword on knees.

**
*

Sachi motioned for Aderyn to follow her forward; they settled on cushions before Lord Sanematsu. This time, Aderyn did not look at him. She stared at her folded hands, mindful of Sachi’s instructions.

“My lord.” Sachi’s soft voice carried in the room. “At your request, I have instructed her in our ways. If she or her actions should offend you, I assume the responsibility.”

“I am sure you have done well in the few hours I have given you,” Sanematsu replied. “You may leave us.”

Sachi departed without a glance at Aderyn, who watched her friend’s departure with dread.

“I have not had the opportunity to ask your name.” His forceful and commanding voice struck her.

“I am Aderyn Aquilla.” Her voice echoed in the room. “Aderyn is my given name.” She could no longer contain her curiosity, lifting her gaze to snatch a timid peek across the short distance between them.

He sat tailor-fashion on a dais raised about a foot off the floor. Over his heavy dark-blue silk osode, he wore what Sachi had explained was a
suikan
. The short, wide-sleeved black jacket with a broad yoke at the back made his already impressive shoulders appear wider. Sachi had also told her the long, skirt-like pants Sanematsu wore casually were called
hakama
.

Aderyn found herself captivated by his face. In contrast to the plain, flat countenance common to the other men, his features were strong and angular. Taut brown skin stretched over high cheekbones and a square jaw. His large eyes were almond-shaped, with a slight tilt at the corners. When he spoke, perfect white teeth shone between well-defined, supple lips. His height and long, straight legs, plus his fairer skin, made him look more like the Manchurians or Koreans she had seen in Macao.

“I am Sanematsu Yoshihide of the clan Minamoto, Lord of Satsuma Province of Kyushu.” His name sounded like “Yo-she-he-da” to Aderyn’s ears. “You may address me as Sanematsu-sama,” he said with formality, but his tone had become less authoritative, his attitude relaxed and unceremonious. “How old are you, Aderyn?”

“Fifteen last month, sire.” Aderyn tried not to laugh as her name came out almost unrecognizable. She lost her battle and giggled.

“Why do you laugh like a silly maid?” Sanematsu demanded.

“I am sorry, Sanematsu-sama.” Aderyn composed herself. “I know your language does not have a place for certain sounds. My nurse Hana-sama could not pronounce my name, either. The lack of proper pronunciation makes it sound…funny.”

She watched as his hand came to rest on his sword. The guard moved to stand at her back. Was Sanematsu insulted? Had she misspoken or done something wrong? Her heart raced, and she struggled to take a deep breath. Was her life to be forfeit for a slip of her tongue?