The hostages were a disconsolate heap of misery on the floor of the gathering hall of the Japanese village, their hands and feet tied, a guard watching their every move. Not that they could move much. Their eyes were downcast, but they looked up when First-to-Dance spoke to them, and showed them the arrows.
First-to-Dance translated. “They say that their people, the Ixchenta, had nothing to do with this attack. They say that the arrows are made by the Achista, who live to the north, and are their enemies.
“Why, they say, have you attacked them? Did they not welcome you? Have they not let you catch salmon in the river that their grandfather’s grandfather fished in?”
Kanesada stared at her, then dropped his gaze. “I have failed my lord. I have made enemies of our friends, and our real enemies are laughing at us. I must make amends.”
He gave orders for finer food and drink to be brought for the hostages, and presents too, from his own belongings.
“Tell them that I apologize for my mistake, and that I will set them free as soon as I have given them gifts to make up for the deed.” First-to-Dance did so.
“No,” said Kanesada, “that’s not enough. I must atone . . . personally.”
First-to-Dance looked at him, in horrified surmise. “Please, no, Kanesada-san!” First-to-Dance had seen Jinbei’s body, shortly after his ritual suicide, and Chiyo-hime had described to her, in morbid detail, what was involved. “Lord Masamune has absolutely forbidden seppuku without his prior written permission!”
Kanesada’s shoulder slumped. “So I must endure the shame.”
“Is there nothing else you can do, to satisfy your honor, that is less . . . permanent?”
Kanesada looked at the headman, who had been a silent witness of the conversation with the Ichxenta Indians. “Do you have a muchi?” The headman nodded uncertainly. The muchi was a scourge, a piece of bamboo to which barbed thongs were attached. “Please bring it to me,” Kanesada ordered.
As he waited for the headman to return, Kanesada laid down his swords, and undid the top half of his hitatare, letting it hang down from his obi-sash. First-to-Dance couldn’t help but admire the view.
Kanesada swung the wicked looking muchi back over his shoulder, whipping those barbs deep into his flesh. First-to-Dance flinched.
After giving himself twenty lashes, Kanesada handed the muchi back to the headman, bowed to the Indians, and said, “tell them they are free to go.” He gathered up his swords and left the room, upper body still bare.
Kodachi Machi/Santa Cruz
Hiraki bowed to his parents. “Will grandfather be all right?”
Takuma and Mizuki exchanged glances. “The headman has sent a mounted messenger to Kawa Machi, to ask that Ihaku-sama come and see him,” Takuma told him. “He is a very great physician from Kyoto. He treated the big merchants, and the samurai, and even the cloud-dwellers.” The last was the poetic name given to the kuge, the court nobles. They didn’t pay well, but the prestige of administering to the court did attract a snobbish clientele that had money.
“Once, he was permitted to reach between curtains and touch the emperor’s toe!” Mizuki added. That was, of course, the emperor Go-Mizunoo, who renounced the throne in 1629, as part of the political fallout from the “Purple Clothes Incident” two years earlier. “And yet, after the ‘America’ Edict, he revealed himself to be a kirishitan. Think of what he has sacrificed for the faith. How can he fail, being so knowledgeable and yet so holy?”
* * *
At last, Ihaku arrived, together with his apprentice. At the entrance, he carefully set down the katana that, as a doctor, he was permitted to carry.
Mizuki greeted them and led them to her father-in-law’s bedside.
“Daizo, tell me about your illness.” Daizo mumbled something, eyes closed. “Daizo?”
Ihaku turned to Mizuki. “When did he first become sick?”
“About three days ago he complained of a headache,” said Mizuki. “I felt his forehead and it was hot to the touch. Yesterday he was nauseous, his tummy hurt, and he vomited several times that night. Today he was listless, and I noticed that he had a rash on his palms, wrists, soles and ankles. He says his calves are aching, too.”
Ihaku felt old Daizo’s forehead, and motioned for his apprentice to do the same. Ihaku looked at him. “What is your diagnosis?”
“Mine?”
“Is there another apprentice in the room?”
“There is excess of both dampness and heat.” Meaning, diarrhea and fever.
“And what is the proper treatment?”
“We must cool the blood with Qin-Wen-Bai-Du, and dry the digestion with Huo Xiang Zheng Qi Wan. As for the head and muscle aches, moxibustion would be best.” That involved applying mugwort to a patient’s skin, near appropriate acupuncture points, and burning it. “But I think we have run out, Ihaku-sensei.”