“You must be very tired,” Moe said in the same artificial voice. “And I see you were wounded. Let me prepare you some tea.”

He knew if he stayed in the room a moment longer he would lose control. He stood abruptly, saying nothing more to his wife, thrust his hand toward the door, tearing the paper screen as he forced it open, and rushed toward the garden. The wall brought him up short. He crashed his fist down on it as though he could split the stone, and tears spurted from his eyes like fountains.

He stood gazing out to sea across the bay. Scarlet azaleas splashed the green of the opposite shore. The waves murmured against the huge seawall and a slight breeze came off the sea, drying the tears on his cheeks. After the one first surge, he did not weep again, but felt the heat of his fury subside and transform itself into something else, no less intense but controllable: an implacable resolve to hold onto what was left to him.

There was no one to whom he could talk, no one with whom to share his grief. Only Kiyoshige would have understood, and Kiyoshige was dead: he would never talk to him, never hear him laugh again. He himself was surrounded by people who hated him-his uncles, his own wife. He had lost his father, his closest friend, his most trusted adviser, Irie Masahide-and Akane, who would have consoled him, whom he would never hold again.

Endo Chikara came to him to tell him that the meeting was assembled. Shigeru had to put aside his grief and rage and face his uncles with composure. Now more than ever he was grateful to Matsuda and the monks at Terayama for the rigorous training that had taught him self-control. He greeted his uncles with no indication of his true feelings, received their condolences and inquiries calmly, scrutinizing their faces carefully but discreetly, assessing their stance and demeanor. He studied Masahiro covertly, repelled by the thought of Akane in the embrace of such ugliness. He did not believe it-she would never sleep with Masahiro unless he had forced her. This idea caused him such revulsion he had to seal it away in order to be able to continue the discussions.

The meeting was stormy, marked by unease and fear, filled with recriminations: the first against the treacherous Noguchi; then, more subtly, against Shigeru himself, for inciting Iida’s hostility, for confronting the Tohan directly. It ended in something of a stalemate, with Lord Shoichi declining to stand down as regent, since it might be that the Tohan would refuse to negotiate with Shigeru and someone had to be in authority to speak for the clan.

Endo, pragmatic as usual, was noticeably silent, but Miyoshi spoke warmly in support of Shigeru, making it clear that in his opinion the people in Hagi, indeed throughout the Middle Country, had been in favor of the war against the Tohan and would vehemently resist any decision to submit to them. He believed, with Shigeru, that the West would not tolerate the complete domination of the Middle Country by the Tohan, and that they should put their confidence in the alliance with Maruyama, and use it as leverage.

“We must meet the Tohan demands with demands of our own,” Miyoshi counseled. “After all, Sadamu attacked Chigawa unprovoked.”

“Unfortunately, he was all too provoked,” Shoichi retorted. “By Lord Shigeru’s conduct ever since the death of Miura.”

There seemed little point in arguing repeatedly over the same ground, and Shigeru called an end to the meeting, returning to his mother’s house that night, since he wanted to talk in private with Ichiro, and he could not bear to be under the same roof as his uncles or his wife. Miyoshi wanted to accompany him, but Shigeru persuaded him to remain in the castle: he needed at least one loyal retainer there. Miyoshi sent reinforcements to guard the house, and Shigeru thought he knew why. At this point his sudden death would be a convenience for many. Assassination had become a strong possibility. He had never thought about it before; he had been protected by his undisputed position. Now as he returned through the streets, which were still frantic with milling crowds of people, he realized how easily an assassin could be hidden among them. His mother’s house seemed pitifully unprotected, but at least he trusted her servants, unlike within the castle, where he could no longer trust anyone.

He told Ichiro all that had been discussed in the meeting, and his teacher offered to attend the following day’s negotiations, agreeing with Miyoshi that the Otori had many grievances that needed to be addressed.

“I will remember everything that is said and make a record of it,” he promised.

By the time they had bathed and eaten the evening meal, Shigeru was numb with fatigue. He wanted to question Ichiro about Akane-but what would Ichiro know? He wanted to grieve for her, as she deserved-but what if she had indeed betrayed him? It was too lacerating to think about. He shut his emotions away, as if in a box buried in the earth, and let himself fall into the deep river of sleep.

Just before sleep came to him, he thought, If anyone knows the truth about Akane, it will be Chiyo. He resolved to question the old woman later, and he found some comfort in knowing that she would not lie to him.

LORD KITANO ARRIVED in Hagi the following day and was escorted with great ceremony to the castle. The dignity of his passage was somewhat marred by the frenzied behavior of the townsfolk, still exorcising their grief and sense of betrayal in dancing and chanting, dressed, it seemed, in ever more garish and bizarre apparel. Kitano’s procession found itself the target of abuse. Stones and rubbish were hurled, and blood was very nearly spilled as a result.

Only Shigeru’s appearance stopped the unrest from developing into something more ugly. He met Kitano, welcomed him formally, and rode alongside him, his composure and courage reassuring and calming the people to some extent, as did the presence of Ichiro, who was widely known and respected as a man of great learning and integrity. It was a sultry, humid day: clouds were massing over the mountains and on the horizon. The plum rains would start at any time and put a temporary halt to hostilities.

Men shouted angrily that they would burn their houses to the ground and destroy their fields rather than hand them over to the Tohan; women sang that they would throw themselves and their children into the sea if Sadamu ever rode into Hagi. Shigeru was glad that Kitano heard this. If the people were not placated, the harvest would not be brought in, food production would come to a halt, and everyone would starve before the next spring.

The meeting was to be small, with just the Otori lords-Shigeru and his uncles-and Kitano. Ichiro was also present with two scribes, one from Hagi, one from Tsuwano. When they were all seated in the main hall and the formal courtesies had been exchanged, Kitano said, “I am glad I am able to be of some service to the clan at this very sad time.”

He had a self-satisfied air, like a cat that had just scoffed stolen fish.

Shoichi said, “We deeply regret recent events. We ourselves counseled against them. My brother and I will take responsibility for the future good behavior of our clan. We hope we can make reparations that Lord Iida will find acceptable.”

“In return, he will recognize us as nominated regents until the succession is clarified,” Masahiro added.

“There is no need for such clarification,” Shigeru said, trying to speak calmly. “I am Lord Shigemori’s eldest son. I have an heir, in my brother, Takeshi.”

Kitano smiled urbanely and said, “It is one of Lord Iida’s basic conditions. No further negotiations will be carried out while Lord Shigeru is the head of the clan.”

When no one spoke, he added, “I warned you not to incite his enmity. Unless you agree to step aside, there is little point in continuing this meeting. Lord Iida and his army have advanced as far as Kushimoto. We cannot prevent them from taking Yamagata. Then, only Tsuwano lies between them and Hagi.”