“Yes, my lord.”
“Akio asked you to serve as his kaishakunin, did he
not?” the daimyo asked.
“He did, my lord,” Tatsuo answered, still staring at the
shuddering corpse.
“Why did you not aid him in this? As his friend and
student, it should fall on you to help remove his head.”
Tatsuo did not answer at first, his lips flapping silently
like a koi as if he sought an appropriate answer within
his addled mind. Lord Soma knew this man to be a loyal
vassal, but after losing such a valued servant as Akio, this
open cowardice made his ire smolder.
“Speak!” the lord snarled, growing impatient.
“Respectfully sorry, my lord. If you wish it, I shall
follow him into death,” Tatsuo offered, setting a hand on
the wakizashi that hung at his own hip and bowing low.
Well, at least the man’s commitment to serve was
commendable.
“That is not what I asked. Now answer my question.”
“Akio was a great friend and teacher, it is true, but I
was a poor student. My hand shakes when I grip a blade.
There is no honor to be gained in a beheading, and
much dishonor should I strike clumsily. I would not risk
such dishonor at his death,” Tatsuo answered, speaking
quickly in his fear.
Lord Soma silently appraised this man for a long
moment. Many questions entered his mind, but he
asked only one. “You and Akio were close. Did you
know that he spoke of you?”
Tatsuo didn’t answer, and so after a pregnant silence,
the daimyo continued.
“He said you had no talent for the warrior’s arts, aside
from some skill with horses. But even though you’re a
clumsy fool, you’re loyal, and I should value such steadfast service above all other virtues.”
Lord Soma watched the awe spread across Tatsuo,
whose face was a mirror to his heart. Pride, disbelief, joy,
humility—all of these danced like shadow puppets across
the theater of his face. But for all this unspoken sentiment, the retainer said only, “Thank you greatly, Lord
Soma,” imbuing each syllable with a poem’s worth of
meaning, despite his formality.
Lord Soma could see why Akio had respected this man
whom others might easily dismiss.
“You offered to follow Akio into death. I forbid it.
Instead, you will serve me by maintaining my family’s
genealogy as Akio did before you. If you are as great a
vassal to me, then you will continue to serve, and will
keep my family’s records preserved and up-to-date.”
Tatsuo’s eyes widened.
“Yes, my lord! Thank you greatly! I am unworthy of
this!” Tatsuo exuberated, bowing to the ground and
pressing his head within a handspan of is friend’s pooled
blood. “You do me a great honor.”
Lord Soma allowed himself a smile. His family’s
genealogy, the Chiken Marokashi, was renowned as the
finest in all Japan, and must remain in the charge of a
loyal servant. Such a man was worth more to the daimyo
than a skilled warrior in these times when war burned at
his borders and soldiers sold their loyalty for coin.
“Thank me through your service. Tell me, Tatsuo, have
you ever tried your hand at the executioner’s yard?”
Tatsuo fumbled for his words as he stood, staring at
the red pool that had leaked through his friend’s blue
robes onto the dirt. He met the daimyo’s eyes as he
spoke, saying “I have never had that pleasure, my lord.”
“You ought to go sometime. It is not such a solemn
affair as this. Rather, it is good fun to cleave the skulls
from honorless convicts who are unworthy of a good
death. More importantly, if you are ever again called on
to be a kaishakunin, you will need to cut right through
the neck and send the head flying like a heron through
the air. Now that I have raised you up to this esteemed
position, you mustn’t neglect the way of the sword.”
Tatsuo agreed, bowed, and—without thinking—set his
hand upon the grip of his own wakizashi. Most days he
wore both swords on his hip, but he had left his katan