Those reasons are sufficient even without the pages.”
“Why Hidetaro, though? Nobody considers him a threat, and he depended upon Hideyoshi for his livelihood.”
“Did you see Sayuri’s eyes light up at the mention of his name?” Hiro asked. “That’s enough to keep him on the list, at least until we talk with him in person.
“And from now on, let me do the talking. Yoshiko might have said something useful if you hadn’t given everything away.”
“I thought we went to warn her. You never said you suspected her of anything.” Father Mateo frowned. “I came to Kyoto to help people find the truth. I cannot fulfill that mission in silence.”
“As I can’t fulfill mine if you get yourself killed,” Hiro countered. “You must not assume that anyone is innocent.”
“She’s Hideyoshi’s daughter!”
“The fact that she shares his blood does not bar her from spilling it,” Hiro said, “though I agree that an assassin seems more likely.”
“Do you think we can find the man from Nagoya?” Father Mateo asked. “He may have left the city in the night.”
“More likely early this morning,” Hiro said. “We need to talk with Luis.”
Chapter 16
A samurai paced the road in front of the Jesuit’s house as though trying to summon the courage to knock on the door. He walked with a minor limp, perhaps from a long-healed wound to a thigh or knee. Drying mud stained the hem of his faded blue robe and clung to the edges of his sandals. His tabi socks, though clean that morning, already showed transfer stains.
By contrast, his topknot was freshly oiled, with every hair in place.
He turned at the sound of Hiro’s and Father Mateo’s approaching footsteps. Hiro didn’t recognize the stranger’s face, but the five-petaled bellflower mon on the man’s kimono symbolized the Akechi clan.
The samurai bowed as they reached him. Several days’ stubble dotted his shaven pate.
“Are you the foreign priest?” he asked, “Matto-san?”
“I am Father Mateo,” the Jesuit said as he returned the bow, “and this is my interpreter, Matsui Hiro. May we help you?”
“I am Akechi Hidetaro. Hideyoshi was my brother.”
Father Mateo waited for the stranger to continue.
Hidetaro said nothing.
Silence hung in the air and the pause grew awkward.
“Invite him inside,” Hiro said in Portuguese. “Samurai do not talk in the street like merchants.”
“Please come in,” the Jesuit said. “May we offer you tea?”
A relieved smile lit Hidetaro’s face. “Yes, thank you.”
Ana was cleaning the floor when the three men entered the house. When she saw the visitor she sprang to her feet and scurried toward the kitchen without a word.
Father Mateo escorted the visitor to the hearth. Hiro followed them, noting the way Hidetaro raised his right leg carefully to ensure that his foot didn’t drag against the tatami. Even so, his right sock made a whispering sound as it moved across the floor.
The men had barely seated themselves around the hearth when Ana returned with tea and a plate of sweet rice balls. She set down the refreshments and returned to the kitchen, pausing just long enough to scoop up the curious kitten that had poked its nose from Hiro’s room.
Hidetaro looked around as he sipped his tea. “This looks almost like a Japanese home.” He looked at Hiro. “Can foreigners live like Japanese?”
“Father Mateo does,” Hiro said. “He even speaks a little Japanese.”
Hidetaro took the hint. “Can you drink tea?” he asked the priest. “What about Japanese food? Can your stomach handle it?”
Father Mateo smiled. “Yes, in fact I prefer Japanese food.”
It was not the first time he had heard the question or seen the surprised reaction to his response.
“Really?” Hidetaro asked. “I have never met a foreigner before.”
“There are only a few of us in Kyoto,” Father Mateo said, “though my superiors hope to build a permanent temple soon.”
Hiro noted the
“Why Hidetaro, though? Nobody considers him a threat, and he depended upon Hideyoshi for his livelihood.”
“Did you see Sayuri’s eyes light up at the mention of his name?” Hiro asked. “That’s enough to keep him on the list, at least until we talk with him in person.
“And from now on, let me do the talking. Yoshiko might have said something useful if you hadn’t given everything away.”
“I thought we went to warn her. You never said you suspected her of anything.” Father Mateo frowned. “I came to Kyoto to help people find the truth. I cannot fulfill that mission in silence.”
“As I can’t fulfill mine if you get yourself killed,” Hiro countered. “You must not assume that anyone is innocent.”
“She’s Hideyoshi’s daughter!”
“The fact that she shares his blood does not bar her from spilling it,” Hiro said, “though I agree that an assassin seems more likely.”
“Do you think we can find the man from Nagoya?” Father Mateo asked. “He may have left the city in the night.”
“More likely early this morning,” Hiro said. “We need to talk with Luis.”
Chapter 16
A samurai paced the road in front of the Jesuit’s house as though trying to summon the courage to knock on the door. He walked with a minor limp, perhaps from a long-healed wound to a thigh or knee. Drying mud stained the hem of his faded blue robe and clung to the edges of his sandals. His tabi socks, though clean that morning, already showed transfer stains.
By contrast, his topknot was freshly oiled, with every hair in place.
He turned at the sound of Hiro’s and Father Mateo’s approaching footsteps. Hiro didn’t recognize the stranger’s face, but the five-petaled bellflower mon on the man’s kimono symbolized the Akechi clan.
The samurai bowed as they reached him. Several days’ stubble dotted his shaven pate.
“Are you the foreign priest?” he asked, “Matto-san?”
“I am Father Mateo,” the Jesuit said as he returned the bow, “and this is my interpreter, Matsui Hiro. May we help you?”
“I am Akechi Hidetaro. Hideyoshi was my brother.”
Father Mateo waited for the stranger to continue.
Hidetaro said nothing.
Silence hung in the air and the pause grew awkward.
“Invite him inside,” Hiro said in Portuguese. “Samurai do not talk in the street like merchants.”
“Please come in,” the Jesuit said. “May we offer you tea?”
A relieved smile lit Hidetaro’s face. “Yes, thank you.”
Ana was cleaning the floor when the three men entered the house. When she saw the visitor she sprang to her feet and scurried toward the kitchen without a word.
Father Mateo escorted the visitor to the hearth. Hiro followed them, noting the way Hidetaro raised his right leg carefully to ensure that his foot didn’t drag against the tatami. Even so, his right sock made a whispering sound as it moved across the floor.
The men had barely seated themselves around the hearth when Ana returned with tea and a plate of sweet rice balls. She set down the refreshments and returned to the kitchen, pausing just long enough to scoop up the curious kitten that had poked its nose from Hiro’s room.
Hidetaro looked around as he sipped his tea. “This looks almost like a Japanese home.” He looked at Hiro. “Can foreigners live like Japanese?”
“Father Mateo does,” Hiro said. “He even speaks a little Japanese.”
Hidetaro took the hint. “Can you drink tea?” he asked the priest. “What about Japanese food? Can your stomach handle it?”
Father Mateo smiled. “Yes, in fact I prefer Japanese food.”
It was not the first time he had heard the question or seen the surprised reaction to his response.
“Really?” Hidetaro asked. “I have never met a foreigner before.”
“There are only a few of us in Kyoto,” Father Mateo said, “though my superiors hope to build a permanent temple soon.”
Hiro noted the
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