Mx3

By Art Wiederhold

Mx3 is a story within a story within a story. It is a fantasy, historical romance, and an autobiography with touches of the paranormal activities added for good measure. Mx3 takes the reader from early seventeenth century Japan to the Vietnam War and the present time.

When a young samurai meets and marries a pretty young woman en route to seeking employment with one of the major daimyo, it sets in motion a series of events that span six centuries and interweaves the lives of several people in ways they never imagined. This is a tale of high adventure, loves lost and regained, comedy and tragedy, and bizarre coincidences and haunting.

Most of all, its about that never-ending soap opera we call life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Sep 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490745206

Art Wiederhold

The author of more than 35 novels, Brooklyn-born Art Wiederhold has worked at several professions, including semipro baseball player, soldier, sailor, international reporter, war correspondent, artist, chef and paranormal investigator. He currently lives in a historic house in St. Louis with his wife, Rosie; their son Conrad, Rosie’s parents, three insane cats and several documented ghosts.

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Copyright 2014 Art Wiederhold.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-4521-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-4520-6 (e)

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Contents

Ue o muite arukou

Namida ga koborenai youni

Omoidasu haru no hi

Hitoribotchi no yoru

Ue o muite arukou

Nijinda hoshi o kazoete

Omoidasu haru no hi

Hitoribotchi no yoru

Shiawase wa kumo no ue ni

Shiwase wa sora no ue ni

Ue o muite arukou

Namida ga kaborenai youni

Nakinagara aruku

Hitoribotchi no yoru

Omoidasu aki no hi

Hitoribotchi no yoru

Kanashimi wa hoshi no kage ni

Kanashimi wa tsuki no kage ni

Ue o muite arukou

Namida ga kaborenai youni

Nakinagara aruku

Hitoribotchi no yuru

Ue o muite arukou

Namida ga kaborenai youni

Omoidasu haru no hi

Hitori botchi no yoru

Ue o muite arukou

Nijinda hoshi o kazoete

Omoidasu haru no hi

Hotoribotchi no yoru

Shiawase wa kumo no ue ni

Shiawase wa sora no ue ni

Ue o muite arukou

Namida ga koborenai youni

Nakinagara aruku

Hitoribotchi no yoru

Omoidasu aki no hi

Hitoribotchi no yoru

Kanashimi wa hoshi no kage ni

Kanashimi wa tsuki no kage ni

Ue o muite arukou

Namida ga kaborenai youni

Nakinagara aruku

Hitoribotchi no yoru

I

dedicate this book to the women and events that have shaped my life and enabled me to become who I am today.

Ue o muite arukou

The driver stopped the cab on the road overlooking the old house. His passenger, an elderly American gentleman with short silver hair and glasses whom he’d picked up at the Shimizu Ryokan, opened the door and stepped out. The man studied the old house with, so the driver thought, a sense of fondness.

Please wait here. I won’t be long, the man said.

The driver nodded and watched as the man made his way carefully down the snow-covered road to the flat ground in front of the house. He noted that the man was older but not bent and he walked without the aid of a cane. In fact, his gait was strong and sure.

Athletic.

And he wore a black leather jacket, blue jeans and short boots.

He thought the man was the type who was comfortable in his own skin and who was accustomed to living life on his terms. He wondered where he’d come from and what events made him who he is?

This was the first time the driver had been out this way. He never would have known about the house had it not been for the gaijin.

How did he know it was here? he wondered as he watched the man look around. What possible connection could he have with such a place?

A light snow had fallen two days earlier and covered the house and grounds with a thin white shroud. The snow made the old house look forlorn, almost like it had been weeping. He wondered why this gaijin wanted to come here. Why would he have such an interest in this house?

The house was a two-story, thick-walled house built sometime during the Edo Period. It stood three feet above the ground on a raised platform. Its exterior was peeling and the upper window was partially open. It had obviously been abandoned many years before.

He watched as the gaijin climbed up onto the porch with some difficulty. He slid the door open and went inside.

The driver pulled his cap down over his eyes and decided to take a short nap.

He woke an hour later and checked his watch. He stretched, looked around and saw no one. He hit the horn to let the gaijin know he was still waiting.

Nothing.

Curious, he stepped out of the cab and walked down to the house. That’s when he noticed something strange.

Something that was impossible.

He’d watched the man walk across the snow covered ground to the house. Yet, when he looked down, the only footprints he saw were his own. He stopped and looked around, thinking that he must have missed them somehow.

He found nothing.

How did he walk across snow without leaving footprints? he asked himself as he walked up to the house.

That’s when he saw that the thin layer of snow on the porch was also undisturbed.

How can this be? he thought.

He called out several times, only to hear his own words echo through the empty house. He slid the door open and stepped inside. The floor was littered with debris or all sorts. It, too, had not been disturbed.

For years.

He walked through the house. In the rear room of the first floor he saw an old, dust-covered Buddhist shrine on a raised platform. On the wall above it was an old, dust-covered framed black and white photo depicting a typical Japanese family from the 1960s.

He walked up the single flight of stairs to the second floor. All he saw was a small, very old, dust-covered wooden desk and chair in the front room. Above that hung a framed drawing of a large-eyed waif standing beneath a European style street lamp. It looked as if it had been there forever.

He called out again.

Nothing.

An uneasy feeling struck him.

He knew he saw the gaijin enter the house. Yet there was absolutely no sign of him anywhere. He decided to drive back to the ryokan to see if his passenger had somehow made it back…

Asakusa Shrine was a one-story wooden structure with a high pitched roof. The entire building, save for the roof, was painted bright red and the paved path leading up to the shrine was flanked by traditional lion dogs, put there to keep evil spirits away. One reached the shrine by walking through a tall wooden gate that flanked the path.

It was part of the Asakusa Kannon Temple complex in the northeastern part of Edo and had been constructed around 645 A.D. That made it nearly 900 years old when a young samurai and his pretty companion arrived.

The complex consisted of several gates, the Goju-no-to (Five Story Pagoda), and the famed temple itself. The streets around the temple were filled with shops and stalls hawking all sorts of goods. Everything from fine porcelains, lacquered ware and silks to grilled meats and fish or bowls of steaming noodles.

They stopped at a vendor and he purchased two skewers of grilled meat. He gave her one and they ate while they walked.

When they came to the temple gate she stopped.

This is it, she said.

Asakusa Temple? Why did you bring me here? he asked.

You’ll see, she replied.

He followed her through the gate, making sure not to step on the path that led directly to the temple. She warned him not to step on the path.

You must walk along side of it, she instructed.

Why is that? he asked.

That path is the one the god uses to go to the temple. Only he can step on it. Everyone else, even the bokushis, must walk beside it, she explained.

They stopped at a small well outside the temple. He watched as she used the long-handled wooden ladle to scoop water from the well. She then poured it over her hands and feet to clean and purify herself before entering the temple. She then handed him the ladle and stepped back.

He shrugged but followed her example.

He didn’t believe in gods, but he felt it was best to humor her.

Now we can go inside, she smiled.

As they approached the steps, the bokushi came out to greet them. He had a wide grin on his face—one that told the young samurai that he was in trouble.

She was dressed in a neat, clean but plain cotton kimono and sandals of woven bamboo. Her hair was long, beautiful and tied in back by a bright, red silk ribbon. She was just five feet one inch tall and very pretty. She had a soft, sweet voice and a smile that lit up the world.

He was slightly younger, tall, broad shouldered and handsome. His hair was cut short save for the traditional top knot. He wore a black yukata, reed sandals and a sheathed katana tucked into his sash.

He had come to Edo in search of employment.

Being skilled with both the katana and yumi, he hoped to get hired by one of the powerful daimyo who frequented the Hojo stronghold in Hachioji, which was to the west of Edo. He’d heard that several important daimyo would be visiting the castle at the end of the month and decided to try his luck.

He’d met the girl along the way only three days earlier in Chiba. He was seated under a shade tree eating a rice cake and minding his own business. She walked over and sat beside him and struck up a conversation. The next thing he knew, she was accompanying him to Edo.

She had insisted on it.

Being somewhat shy and awkward with women, he couldn’t figure out a polite way to tell her no. Anyway, she was very pretty and he kind of like her.

A lot.

And she said she knew the quickest, easiest road to Edo. And she’d made the journey fun. She talked a lot and made him laugh. She had a bold, almost daring way about her that he found attractive. She was honest and totally unafraid to speak her mind. These things set her far apart from any woman he’d ever met. And this made her even more appealing to him.

All in all, it was an amusing situation. He had a feeling he was about to discover just how amusing it was.

The bokushi looked at them then smiled at her.

Ohayo gozaimasu, M.-san, he said with a bow. Is this the young man you spoke of yesterday?

Hai. He is the one, she said.

The bokushi looked at him and grinned.

Please come inside so I can perform the ceremony, he instructed.

Ceremony? What ceremony are you talking about? the samurai asked.

Our wedding ceremony of course! she said.

Wedding ceremony? Are you crazy? he asked, obviously shocked by her announcement.

I thought that since we decided to visit the temple, we should get married, she explained.

We? You brought me here! I didn’t decide anything, he protested.

The bokushi looked at him then at her.

You didn’t tell him? he queried.

No, she did not! the samurai said as he squinted at her. When did she speak with you about this?

She came here last evening and asked me to perform the ceremony, the bokushi replied.

The samurai looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

I see. And just when did you decide we should marry? he asked.

The day I first saw you, of course, she replied.

Why didn’t you let me in on this? he asked.

I didn’t want to trouble you with the details. Besides, I didn’t think you would have any objections. After all, I’m a very good catch, she said.

Oh really? he queried as he smiled at her.

I did discuss it with you on the way here. I didn’t hear you object, she pointed out.

I just listened to humor you. I don’t even recall you asking me about this, he said. I never said I agreed to this, did I?

You never said that you disagreed, either. So, since you didn’t, I went ahead and made the arrangements, she explained.

He looked at the bokushi.

What do you have to say about this? he asked.

The bokushi laughed.

I think you lost all hope of escaping the moment you entered my temple. The decision has already been made for you. You might as well get used to it, my boy. I’m certain that this won’t be the last time she makes up your mind for you, he said.

So, I’m doomed? he asked.

I’m afraid so, the bokushi replied.

I thought the husband is supposed to make all of the important decisions in the family, the samurai said as he looked at her.

The bokushi laughed.

You’ll quickly learn, as I have, that such notions are merely myths. Consider this to be the first day in your learning process, he said.

She smiled at him and his knees nearly buckled.

You do want to marry me, don’t you? she asked.

Do I have a choice? he asked.

No, she and the bokushi said at once.

He laughed.

I just wish that you had consulted me first, he said.

Why? There was no need to anyway. The outcome would still have been the same, she said as they followed the bokushi…

It was an exceptionally warm day for Tokyo. J. left his office in the Ginza and took the subway to his home in Meguro. Unfortunately, there were no available seats and he was forced to stand the entire way home. As he stood holding onto the support, he glanced up at one of the small ads above him.

The ad depicted a samurai in full battle armor atop a dark brown horse looking out over an oncoming army.

He smiled.

He knew exactly what it advertised. In fact, it was a book his mother was reading at this very moment. He also knew why she was reading it. It was the same reason she had read each one of the author’s novels. All but the last two were in English. That didn’t stop his mother from purchasing them online and reading them from cover to cover.

This one was different.

While his earlier novels had gone unnoticed, this one had become the most widely-read novel in Japan. He looked around.

He saw two young women nearby. Each was reading a copy of the novel.

Several women at his office were also reading it. He found this unusual. He’d read his earlier novels. They were high-adventure, sword and sorcery and science fiction novels that mostly appealed to males. But his latest novel had become a huge favorite with the woman in Japan.

He knew it was a novel closely based on Japanese history. That also amused him. Imagine a gaijin writing a historical novel about Japan that was a best seller in Japan!

M. had purchased the book two days earlier. She was surprised to see it on display at a bookstore in the Ginza. Most of his novels never made it to bookstores. If they did, those stores were not in Japan.

Yet here it was. In the window, no less.

She went inside and saw that several young women were standing in the checkout line with copies of the book in their hands. M. took the last book from the table and joined them. As she looked at the cover, she was amazed to find out that the entire story was set in early 17th century Japan.

And the entire book had been translated into Japanese.

She purchased the novel and hurried home on the train. As she rode, she started to read the book—and nearly missed her stop because of it.

As she walked home from the station, she let her thoughts drift back to that long-ago winter’s day when she received his first letter. She was just 17 then. A high school girl in a small rural area far off the beaten path. A friend of hers had encouraged her to add her name to the list of a well-known pen pal club called Japan International Social that specialized in helping Japanese women find American penpals and, hopefully, husbands. When she joined, she never expected anything to come from it.

Then she got his letter.

The idea that he had taken the trouble to join the club and write to her, excited her. She wrote back and their friendship began.

His second letter included his photo. He was young and handsome and had mischievous eyes and a nice smile. She sent him her photo which her friend had taken of her. She was standing in an open area with her hands clasped. She had on a white turtleneck sweater and dark slacks.

To her surprise, his next letter arrived with 24 Japanese postage stamps for her to use when writing. He had taken great pains to acquire the stamps and had sent them to her. She knew he was serious now.

And generous.

During their correspondence, she learned that he worked for a bank during the late fall and winter months and played semi-pro baseball. He wanted to become a professional player—in Japan! He wrote that he was a huge fan of the Yomiuri Giants and was able to name all of the key players. Unlike most Americans his age, his goal was to play baseball in Japan instead of America.

Her parents were also surprised by this. They said she had found a most unusual American friend, too.

She smiled at the memories and continued reading…

Their wedding night was a mixture of humor, awkwardness and experimentation. He had never experienced a woman. She had never experienced a man. In the end, they got it right and their first official night together as man and wife was filled with passion.

As was the next morning

And afternoon.

And night.

They left the ryokan near Asakusa and took the road west through Edo.

At the time, Edo was just beginning to find itself as a center of commerce, religion and power. Several important daimyo had begun erecting castles in and near the town and more and more people were migrating to it.

But the real center of power was Hachioji. It was there they were headed. And the young samurai and his bride were about to embark on a life they had never imagined.

He was upstairs in the shower when he heard the phone ring. He turned off the water and reached for the towel when he heard his wife run up the stairs. She opened the door and handed him the phone.

It’s your publishing agent, she said. She says it’s very important.

He took the phone.

Hello Liz, he said.

I have great news for you. It’s about your latest novel, she said excitedly.

Bushi? he asked as he dried himself off.

That’s right. You must have been psychic when you told us to translate it into Japanese and market it there. Your book is the best-selling novel in the country right now. In fact, it’s become the best-selling foreign novel in Japanese history, she said.

I can tell that from the royalties, he said.

That’s not why I’ve called, she said. We want to send you to Japan for an entire month on a multi-city book tour. We even have several newspapers and magazines eager to interview you and an appearance on Tokyo Tonight. We’ll pay all of your expenses and you can even bring you wife with you.

Fantastic! When do we leave? he asked.

In three weeks. I’ll email you all the details and your plane tickets, Liz replied. I’m so excited for you! I’m so excited for our company, too. This is so big!

No problem. We already have our passports so there won’t be any delays, he said. You’re right. This is wonderful news.

He handed the phone back to R. and grinned.

We’re going to Japan, he said.

Namida ga koborenai youni

Hachioji was a mountainous area several miles west of Edo. It was nestled at the foot of Takao Yama amid beautiful forests and green, open fields. The town itself was picturesque and crowded with ryokans, ryorya, shops, pleasure houses and gambling dens. It was a typical castle town and dominated by the massive and newly constructed Hachioji Castle.

The castle, along with an even more formidable keep at Odawara, was the stronghold of the powerful Hojo clan. Hachioji was still a work in progress. When completed, it would be the largest, strongest, most impregnable fortress in the country.

Lord Hojo Ujitero had ambitions.

Large ones.

The castle was a monument to his overly inflated ego.

And he was about to butt heads with two of the most powerful daimyo in Japan.

It was into this situation that the young samurai and his new bride walked. He’d heard of Lord Hojo.

Everyone had.

And everyone knew he was increasing the size of his army—much to the displeasure of Toyotomi Hideyoshi who viewed Hojo’s military buildup as "ambitious and threatening.

Toyotomi was the Emperor’s Chief Imperial Minister. He had served as one of Oda Nobunaga’s lieutenants and had continued Oda’s plans to unify all of Japan after the Shogun’s death. After defeating several rivals, the Emperor had elevated him to the rank of Chief Imperial Minister in 1585. Toyotomi spent the next few years conquering large areas of Shikoku and Kyushu, thus earning the nickname Hachiman or God of War.

But his ambitions bred enemies.

And Hojo Ujitero was one of them.

The young samurai decided to try to get an audition with him first, so after securing a room at a nearby ryokan, they walked over to the castle. They followed the main road to the wooden bridge and walked across it. On the other side, was a flight of stone steps that had been cut into the mountain. They followed those up to the main gate.

They saw an older samurai standing guard and walked up to him. The older man was dressed in finely-made yoroi and wore a katana at his side while he stood guard with a spear. The man was thick bodied with strong legs and a graying beard and mustache.

I’d like to have an audition with Lord Hojo, the young samurai said.

The old samurai squinted at them as he leaned on his spear.

And just why do you wish to see Lord Hojo? he asked.

I am in need of a position. I have heard that Lord Hojo is seeking retainers, he said.

So he is. And you think you’re good enough to be hired? the samurai asked.

I hope so. I’m very skilled with a katana and a yumi and I can ride a horse, the young samurai replied.

The old man eyed M.

What about you? he asked.

I am his wife, she said. We were married one week ago.

And you need to support her, is that it? he asked the young man.

Hai, he said.

Why do you want to be a samurai? Why not work as carpenter or even a farmer? the old man asked.

I have no skills other than those I’ve mentioned. My father was a samurai and I learned what I know from him, the young man said.

I see. Where is your father now? the old man asked.

Dead, the young man replied.

Since you’ve taken the trouble to come here, I guess I should at least allow you to try and see Lord Hojo. Just follow that path up to the great house and tell the guard why you’ve come. But Lord Hojo is a very busy man. You may not get to see him, the old man said.

Arigato. May I ask your name? M. asked.

He looked at her and smile. It was a pleasant, playful smile she thought.

I am called Hachiman, he replied.

Hachiman? Isn’t that what they call Toyotomi? the young man asked.

Hachiman was the Japanese god of war. Toyotomi earned that nickname through his many victories. He’d managed to defeat everyone but the Hojo clan, and that still bothered the Hell out of him. He also had designs on the Shogunate along with Tokugawa Ieyesu.

I’m the real Hachiman, the samurai smiled.

What makes you say that? the young man asked.

I’ve been in more battles than he has, Hachiman said with a wink at M. How many have you been in?

None yet, the young man said.

Why you’re nothing but a koinu (puppy)! As a matter of fact, that’s what I’ll call you. From now on, your name is Koinu-san, Hachiman said with a grin.

M. laughed and looked at her husband.

I think I’ll call you that, too, she smiled.

They all laughed.

How old are you, Hachiman-san? he asked.

I am 65 years old, Hachiman said.

Shouldn’t you be retired? Koinu asked.

Retired to do what? Most bushi never reach my age. This is all I know and I like it. So there is no sense in retiring, Hachiman said.

I’ve noticed that you walk with a limp, M. said.

"That’s a reminder from my last battle. I used to be a commander then. I rode a horse, too. During the battle, an arrow found its way through my leg and actually pinned me to the horse. We both went down quite hard. My horse bled to death in minutes. I might have, too, if my men hadn’t found me and pulled me out from under him.

That was seven years ago. I have not been able to ride a horse since, Hachiman explained. I have been guarding this gate ever since I was able to walk again. You might say that Lord Hojo has put me out to pasture—like an old warhorse."

They laughed.

Daimyo like him don’t care about men like us. To them, there is more where we came from. But I have seen many samurai pass through this gate. Most are like you. They come seeking employment. The word is out that Lord Hojo is adding to the size of his army. Usually, when a powerful man like him does that, he is preparing for war, Hachiman said. Be careful in there, Koinu-san. I would hate for your new bride to become a widow before the two of you have tasted life together.

I’ll be careful, Koinu replied. I have more than just myself to think about now.

Make sure you keep that in mind, too, M. said with a smile. I want to have children with you. Many children. I can’t do that if you’re dead.

Hachiman laughed.

I like you, he said to her. You have good sense and spirit.

Koinu bowed to Hachiman and followed the path to the manor house. M. stayed at the gate to chat with Hachiman.

Who else is visiting the castle today? she asked as she eyed a row of banners that were placed against a stone wall.

Lord Toshii Maeda and Lord Date Masamune are here today. More will come tomorrow. Lord Hojo has asked them to visit. I think he’s trying to forge alliances with them, Hachiman said. But both Toshii and Date are allied with Toyotomi and I doubt either will switch alliances. I know for a fact that neither man likes nor trusts Lord Hojo.

Isn’t Lord Tokugawa Ieyesu allied with Toyotomi? she asked.

Hachiman nodded.

Then perhaps it might be best if my husband fails to be hired by Lord Hojo? she asked.

Especially if he wants to stay alive, Hachiman said with a grin. From what I’ve seen and heard the last few months, I fear that the final days of the Hojo clan are approaching. Lord Toyotomi wishes to rule all of Nihon. Lord Hojo stands in his way.

What will you do if war comes? she asked.

I have served the Hojos since I was your husband’s age. I will do what they charge me to do. I will stand my ground and fight until the life leaves my body. It’s what a samurai is expected to do, he answered stoically. If war comes, I hope your husband is on the winning side.

So do I, M. said.

Hachiman smiled at her.

My life is nearly at its end. Yours is just beginning. I want you both to live long and enjoy it, he said.

Do you have family? she asked.

I had four sons, he said. Smallpox took three before they were ten years of age. The other died in a battle that proved to be for nothing. But at least he died with a katana in his hands and with honor. Although I’d much prefer if he’d lived—and so would he.

He looked down at the ground.

I have done the unthinkable. I have outlived all of my children, he said.

I am sorry, she said as she touched his shoulder.

Don’t be, he smiled.

M. sighed.

She put the book aside to rest her eyes. The marriage scene had been amusing, but she had a difficult time imagining a Japanese woman of that era being so forward and bold. The young samurai had been caught off guard but went along with her plans.

She looked up at the poster.

Would he have reacted the same way had I been that bold? Or would I have frightened him away? she wondered.

Since his female character had her name, she wondered if he was trying to send her a subtle message in the hope that she read the book. Is that why this had been marketed in Japan?

She thought about the fact that all of the main female characters in his novels bore her name. She knew that wasn’t a coincidence. Her son was right. A. had never stopped thinking about her and she had never stopped thinking about him.

This is silly! We haven’t seen each other for decades. Even if we met again, what would we even talk about? What would we have in common after all this time? Life experiences? she thought.

She decided to stop reading for a little while and start preparing dinner. J. would be home soon and he’d be hungry. And she, too, was getting hungry.

R. watched while A. worked out in the home gym. He worked out five times a week. Each night, he did something different to keep his body challenged. She liked the way he looked, too. He looked better than most men half his age and showed no signs of slowing down.

What should I bring to Japan? she asked.

I’d say a week’s worth of clothes and nothing else. We can have our laundry done at the hotels and anything else we need, you can buy there. You’ll have to rent a cell phone when we get to Tokyo. Your phone won’t work there, he said as he finished a set of back presses.

Are you sure? she asked.

Positive, he replied. You’ll see. And save room for souvenirs. I know how you get when you shop. Hell, we might have to mail everything you buy back home to avoid buying another suitcase to put it all in.

I’m not that bad! she protested.

He laughed.

I’m not the one who has 230 pairs of shoes all over house, he said. And don’t you dare buy another pair until all those are worn out!

You’ll be busy with book signings. When will I be able to shop? she queried.

You’ll have time. I’m sure M. and her friends will be able to show you some really nice places. Just don’t buy a damned thing that’s stamped made in China. We can get that crap here, he said.

She nodded.

He despised Chinese made things and refused to buy anything from there. He thought the Chinese only made cheap junk that broke easily. Each time she had brought anything home with that label on it, he forced her to return it.

We’ll leave in a few days. We’ll fly American to San Francisco then JAL straight to Tokyo, he said.

What about Manila? she asked.

I’ve booked a flight for you from Osaka to Manila. I have another stop to make so I’ll join you there a few days later, he said. We can spend a week in the Phils then fly back home.

Okay, she smiled. Why aren’t you flying with me?

I have one more place I want to see again before I leave Japan, he said.

Lord Hojo’s gosyuden (palace) was a magnificent multi-storied, many roomed structure with upswept roofs, several gates, narrow shuttered windows and stone and wood walls. It was painted white with gold trim and the roof tiles were of terra cotta. A waterfall cascaded down the mountain just beyond the southeast wall and the surrounding gardens were well laid out and maintained.

Koinu looked it over with interest.

The gosyuden was obviously built to impress. It was a monument to Hojo’s egotism and inflated self-worth. Koinu knew that such displays would eventually lead to Hojo’s downfall.

He also realized another thing.

Although the castle sat high atop Fukusawyama and was larger than most such castles in Japan, it was far from being completed. Obvious flaws in its defense works were everywhere. If it should be attacked before those flaws were corrected, Hachioji would fall quickly—and hard.

He also saw sat that castle, unlike others of its kind, had no main keep. It consisted of the manor house and a system of baileys or small defensive towers and walls. Koinu wondered if this was because Hojo hadn’t gotten around to constructing a main keep or he figured that no one would dare attack Hachioji?

He had learned about such things from his late father. He’d taught Koinu what to look for while inside a castle or military camp. He knew how to spot weak points and points that were too strong to attack. Based on what he’d been taught, Hachioji looked alike a disaster just waiting to happen.

But why? he wondered.

When Koinu reached the manor house, a guard directed him to the end of a very long line of samurai hopefuls. There were hundreds of men. Most were the same age as him. A few looked like seasoned warriors. He sighed and got in line.

It had been early morning when he got on line. It was late afternoon when he finally got in to audition with Lord Hojo. By that time, the daimyo was very tired and he almost dismissed Koinu off –hand. Koinu’s audition was abrupt and fruitless.

M. was waiting for him when he left the building.

How did your interview with Hojo go? she asked as they walked down the path toward the gate.

It did not go well at all, he replied. He said my skills were good but he disliked my demeanor. He said I wasn’t respectful enough. Hojo isn’t looking for good samurai. He’s looking for ass-kissers.

There will be other chances. Perhaps with a lesser daimyo? It does not matter who employs you, does it? she asked.

Not really. Do we still have money? he asked.

A little. We can last a while longer if we are careful, she said.

Then I can wait, he said.