hardly be sure he’d seen it, but there it was. Now everything began to make sense. Daigoro knew so little about money himself that it would never have occurred to him to wage a financial war. A man of bushido was supposed to be above such venal concerns. He left such matters to his wife. No doubt Yasuda Jinbei had taught his sons just that.
But this son did not heed the lesson. He’d spent his entire life being passed up by his brothers. In a greater house perhaps that would not be so bad, but the Yasudas were the least of Izu’s lords protector. That made Kenbei the smallest of the smallest.
Then he married a woman their father despised. Daigoro remembered the first time he and Lord Yasuda had spoken of Azami; Yasuda described her as a she-bear, and claimed she was at least as dangerous as Shichio. Together she and Kenbei had raised a pack of profligate sons—mountain monkeys, as their grandfather called them—and not one of them had made a name for himself. Now Kenbei was sixty, Azami forty, and they were without a legacy. Was it so surprising that they wanted to purchase one?
Yes, Daigoro decided. It was a surprise, or at least it should have been. Kenbei was samurai. His goal should have been to earn his legacy through deeds, and then to be completely dismissive of it. To value fame was to cling to selfishness and permanence. Both of those words should have been bitter in his mouth. Perhaps the aristocracy might develop a taste for them, but for samurai they were poisonous.
So this financial war was not his doing, and neither was it Azami’s. Not solely. They had concocted this scheme together, with no regard for bushido’s demands. Once again, Daigoro found himself facing an opponent he could not understand. First his father-in-law, then Shichio, then Kenbei. Why could they not just draw swords and settle their differences like men?
Daigoro shook his head and sighed. “Have your war, then. Piss on what little honor you have left. But know this: I will send pigeons to your father and all your brothers. They will fly from this place before you do. I will tell your kinsmen exactly what you told me, and let them be the ones to judge you.”
Kenbei and Azami shared a knowing glance. Azami smirked.
She didn’t need to say any more. Daigoro shook his head again, chuckling ruefully. “Lord Yasuda’s pigeon keeper is your man. Of course. What about your brothers? Have you bought their pigeon keepers too?”
“No,” Kenbei said. “Not that it matters. You have no pigeons to send. It seems a fox broke into the Okuma coop a few nights past. There were no survivors.”
Daigoro stormed out of the room. At the doorway he stopped himself. Without turning to look at them, he said, “Is this your idea of warfare? Coins as weapons, and innocent birds as the first casualties? And what did you gain by it? I can be at your father’s side before sunrise.”
“You could, if you were not a wanted man.”
Daigoro gripped the doorframe as if he meant to strangle it to death. Mercifully it was his left hand that seized the wood; in his right, he might have rebroken some fingers. “You told me you valued our alliance,” he said through gritted teeth.
“And you began this conversation by saying you were eternally grateful to me for not handing you over to your enemy. Yet when I ask a simple thing of you, how do you repay me? With scorn. Is that what you call eternal gratitude?”
Daigoro spun around and rushed them. Kenbei and Azami were still kneeling on the tatami; they could only shrink away as he drew close enough to strike. Azami raised her hands as if they would protect her. Her husband fumbled for his katana but seemed to have forgotten where he kept it.
Abruptly Daigoro drew himself short, out of Kenbei’s range but well within Glorious Victory’s considerable reach. “I can take both of your heads in one stroke. And I should. It pains me to see a good friend’s son bring such shame upon himself. If I killed you now, would your brothers come for vengeance or would they come to thank me?”
Kenbei and Azami responded only with cringing silence. Their faces were red and sweating.
“I thank you for your service to House Okuma,” Daigoro said. “Giving up your grandson was a noble sacrifice. Perhaps in time I will allow you to