The Seabird of Sanematsu by Kei Swanson Page A

level, Matsumoto exceeded him in lust, greed, treachery and shrewdness. He despised the man, respected the warrior and mourned the adolescent who had been his friend but had grown into a villain full of spite.

    “It has been some time since we talked as childhood friends,” he commented, airing his thoughts.

    “We are no longer children, sire.” Matsumoto knelt beside him. They faced the altar, but Matsumoto did not offer the god his devotion.

    “How well aware of that I am, Katsura-dono.” Sanematsu sighed. He longed for the blissful days of boyhood, with their freedom from responsibility and absence of care. For a moment, he wished to be young and innocent once more. “It has been a long time since we played in the garden.”

    “It has, sire.” Matsumoto bowed his head to him.

    “Can you not bring yourself to call me by my name? Even in private?”

    First names were not bandied about among their people; it was an ultimate honor to be asked to call another by that name a mother gave her son. The closeness of a strong friendship permitted its use. Sanematsu had given that freedom to Matsumoto when they were youths, before he was aware of Matsumoto’s treachery.

    “I will try, Yoshihide-dono.”

    “You come to reproach me.” He knew what Matsumoto wished to say to him. They seldom had conversations that did not involve business of the army.

    “I am concerned about the attitude of the men after your actions aboard the ship. Regretfully, it is my task as karou to remind you that you cannot afford to be reduced in the garrison’s eyes.”

    Sanematsu knew his preoccupation with the barbarian woman was causing muttering among the household staff. The servants were, in theory, to close their eyes to whatever the lord of Satsuma Province chose to do, but he had heard the whispers of the maids this morning. Not that any of them would deny him his pleasures, but this girl was a foreign devil! He had overheard them speculating whether there where not sufficient women among the civilized people of Nihon to satisfy his lusts.

    Sanematsu turned on his knees to face Matsumoto. The warrior he had called ally coveted everything he had--his power, his position, his possessions and his women. His appetite for sexual playthings was well known, as Matsumoto was never subtle in his lusts. Sanematsu could almost see the hot rush of passion in his eyes at the thought of taking the barbarian in the same manner he had often employed with defeated enemies’ women. Matsumoto’s admonishment seemed quite hypocritical.

    “My honorable karou, I appreciate your concern. I also know many things about you and your appetites. You have a taste for that which is not yours to enjoy.” His forceful and robust voice echoed in the small dwelling.

    “I do not understand what you mean.” Matsumoto’s eyes narrowed in mock confusion, but Sanematsu read him with ease.

    “I think you do. You are more acquainted with indulging in the passion for women than I, so I am sure you think I ordered the foreign woman taken prisoner for certain pleasures you have tasted. I assure you I did not have the same thoughts you did.”

    “So sorry, but I wonder if it is too soon since the honorable Lady Masa’s death for you to return to your duties,” Matsumoto’s words were full of respect but his tone lascivious. “The ashes of Lady Masa’s funeral pyre have been cold less than half a moon.”

    Sanematsu studied the thin stream of smoke rising from the incense, the stick half-spent. One hour had elapsed in prayer and still calm had not come over his soul. With Matsumoto’s arrival, his unrest had become worse.

    “Masa was very beautiful, was she not?” he commented.

    “It has been spoken throughout the province that Lady Masa rivaled the goddess Amaterasu Omikami with her great beauty.” Matsumoto used words designed to cloak any overt observation of his daimyo’s wife’s beauty.

    Masa, daughter of Kazamaki Sukezane, had been