As the two men walked to the swordsmith’s house, which was located a respectful distance from the holy ground of the forge, Kannemori listened to Kaze’s story of his search for the daughter of his former Lord and Lady. The fact that Kaze had been searching for almost three years didn’t surprise him. Kannemori took it for granted that a pupil of the Sensei’s would exert any effort to fulfill a pledge.
As he approached his house, Kannemori was greeted by his wife, who immediately took charge of his guest. She led Kaze to a sitting room to give him food and tea while the swordsmith took a bath. In the bathhouse, his assistants had already stoked the fire and prepared the ofuro. It was strange, but even on the hottest day of summer, when he had been laboring diligently in front of a blazing fire, he craved a hot bath instead of a cold one. The hot bath seemed to cool him off much more than a cool one would.
His assistants dutifully scrubbed his back, as they did every working day. Kannemori had not been blessed by sons, but in the three daughters that had survived childhood, he had found all the joy that a man could expect. His daughters had been married long ago, all to swordsmiths in Kamakura, and taken into other households, but the visits from his grandchildren were now the supreme moments of his life, second only to forging an exceptionally fine blade. He knew, of course, which katana would go to the Sensei’s pupil.
His assistants rinsed him off before he entered the bath. After the master was done, the assistants would get to bathe and then, finally, the women of the house, starting with his wife. The scalding hot water of the bath eased his aching muscles. He knew that he would soon have to appoint one of his assistants his successor, adopting him as a son and grooming the chosen assistant to replace him at his craft. The adopted son would take the name Kannemori, to continue a line that had been unbroken for five generations. Kannemori sighed. He was getting old. Such was the wheel of life-the old replaced by the young. He stretched as the hot water washed away his aches. Perhaps that replacement would not be quite yet. Still, the demand for weapons had slackened considerably since Sekigahara and the coming of peace. Maybe it would be a good time to retire.
Kannemori got out of the bath and dried himself with a small damp towel. The hot water did not have to be absorbed by the towel. It dried off when the excess was taken up. An assistant helped him into a more formal kimono than he would normally wear because of his guest.
Asking his assistant to fetch the key, Kannemori went to the plaster treasure storage located behind the main house. Opening the door, he entered by himself and immediately went toward a hinoki wood chest at the back of the cramped treasure room. Opening it, he took out a bundle wrapped in a purple cloth and left to join his guest, leaving the assistant to lock up.
He found the Sensei’s pupil in the formal sitting room, enjoying some gomoku rice. His wife gave him a small smile and immediately leaned over to pick up an iron kettle filled with sakè that had been sitting in a pot of hot water to warm it. Kannemori put the bundle on the floor and sat down across from the samurai. He was pleased that the samurai had the good manners to ignore the bundle, even though he must have known what was in it and must have been curious to see them.
As the guest, the samurai was served first, a splash of sakè poured into a small porcelain saucer. The samurai then insisted on taking the kettle from Kannemori’s wife and serving the swordsmith himself. The two men toasted. “To the Sensei and happier times,” Kannemori said.
Seeing the two men were intent on serious talk, Kannemori’s wife left them to start preparing supper.
Kannemori reached over and poured another drink for the samurai. The samurai took the kettle and repeated the act for the swordsmith.
“Oishi! Good!” Kannemori said, smacking his lips after draining his saucer.
“Yes, it is,” agreed the samurai.
“Do you still sit in trees?” Kannemori asked suddenly.
“I was a young man then,” Kaze said, a bit embarrassed. It was unseemly for a full grown man to indulge in childish things.
“But…” Kannemori prompted.
“But I still do it, Kannemori Sensei.”
Kannemori laughed and said, “I asked not because I wanted to embarrass you, but because of something the Sensei and I used to speculate about when you were a lad.”
“What’s that, Kannemori Sensei?”
“Have you ever been to the temple Kenchoji?”
“No, Kannemori Sensei.”
“Kenchoji has the first garden laid out in Zen style, and by the lake in the garden was Yogo no Matsu, the shadow pine, an especially lovely tree. On one occasion the priests of the temple were gathered in a room overlooking the garden when they saw a branch on this beautiful tree suddenly dip toward the ground. Lord Abbot Doryu immediately started a conversation with someone sitting on the branch that no one else could see. The Abbot said he was a man in costly court robes and asked where he came from. The man said ‘Tsurugaoka,’ the hill of cranes.”
“Where the Hachiman Shrine is?” Kaze asked.
“The same. Today that tree is called Reisho, the Cold Pine, and the monks swear that the stranger on the branch was the God Hachiman, the God of War himself. When you were a boy, the Sensei and I talked about your love of sitting on tree limbs, and we speculated about whether this was related to your precocious skill with the sword. I thought it might be a sign that Hachiman himself had touched you.”
“And the Sensei?”
“The Sensei said I had spent too much time near a clanging forge and that my senses were addled!” Kannemori laughed. “Still,” Kannemori said thoughtfully, “even an addled fool can sometimes see something a wise man cannot.”
The two men poured drinks for each other again.
“I suppose Tokugawa will declare himself Shogun soon,” Kaze said, wanting to change from a subject that made him uncomfortable. He left off the “san” or “sama” honorific normally used with Tokugawa’s name.
Kannemori looked surprised. “Haven’t you heard? Tokugawa-sama declared himself Shogun months ago.”
Kaze was stunned. “I’ve been wandering the mountains and had not heard the news. I knew Tokugawa was thinking of declaring himself Shogun when he claimed descent from the Minamoto. I’m still surprised he dared to do it.”
“He received the imperial decrees earlier this year,” Kannemori said. The reception of imperial appointments, including one as great as Shogun, the supreme military dictator of Japan, was almost an anticlimactic affair. The official decrees appointing Ieyasu would be sent from Kyoto, probably written in the emperor’s own hand. Each decree would be in a separate box. Ieyasu would receive the imperial delegation in his reception room, sitting on a dais. A box would be handed to an assistant, who would take it out of the room. The box would be opened and the decree, often consisting of only a line or two, would be read to see what honor was bestowed. Then the decree would be replaced by a bag of gold and the box would be returned to the delegation. Ieyasu would then be told what honor had been assigned. No doubt, in addition to Shogun, Ieyasu had received decrees granting many other old Court titles, such as Minister of the Right, which made him the military commander of Kyoto. The more titles granted, the more bags of gold flowing into the imperial coffers.
“After being appointed Shogun, Tokugawa-sama went to Kyoto to celebrate,” Kannemori continued, “and he’s just returned to Edo to check on the progress of his new castle and to see how the town is being rebuilt after the great fire last year. Edo is now a bustling place, full of growth.”
“And also full of charlatans, cheats, and enemies. Men like the Tokugawas,” Kaze said. “There was a Shogun who ruled for only thirteen days. Tokugawa’s rule will not be that short, but he may not enjoy a long dynasty. I truly need a new sword now.”