Krysty had nodded, knowing that there were times when it might be worth arguing.
And times when it was obviously going to be a total waste of time.
KRYSTY AND MILDRED WERE the only women in the courtyard. At a rough guess, Ryan figured that the shogun still had something close to one hundred men to call on, probably still enough to hold off the ronin.
The sec men had on their finest crimson-and-white uniforms. Many were carrying rifles and pistols, which was unusual in itself, since the blasters weren’t supposed to be honorable weapons. The samurai all wore gorgeous kimonos, embroidered with foxes, herons, dragons and cherry blossom. Carrying their sheathed ceremonial swords, they strutted to their places at the front of the long line of spectators.
The captured ronin, Mashashita, stood alone at one end of the open room, wearing his green kimono, carrying an unsheathed sword, the point resting in the raked gravel in front of him.
He didn’t seem to have been harmed in any way. As Ryan looked at him, the lordless samurai flexed his shoulders and grinned nervously at the Westerners.
Lord Mashashige made his entrance quietly, slipping into the open space through one of the concealed panels. It was late afternoon, and the sun was almost gone. The wind had veered and seemed to be blowing some specially virulent polluted air their way. Even the sec men were sneezing and coughing and wiping their prickling eyes.
Doc was flourishing his blue kerchief, blowing his nose loudly. He sounded like a broaching narwhal, drawing every eye to him. Mashashita laughed out loud, with a touch of hysteria cracking in his voice.
But the shogun didn’t laugh. He was bareheaded, dressed entirely in plain sable cotton, with his feet bare. His sword was unsheathed, tucked into his black sash.
He took his place at the far end of the open space, bowing first to his opponent, then to Ryan and his friends, finally to his own people.
Yashimoto took a long step forward, clearing his throat. “To all present, greetings. Lord Mashashige has challenged the felon and traitorous dog Mashashita to fight a duel to determine which has the right in the matter of honor.”
It was a long sentence, and he ran out of breath before completing it, doubling over in a coughing fit that turned his face puce and made his eyes water. Everyone waited for him to continue his speech.
“It has been declared by Lord Shogun Mashashige that should he be the loser in this fight, the ronin samurai, the landless and lordless Mashashita, shall be allowed to walk free without any hindering and gives his solemn oath that no revenge shall be carried out against him by any man of Lord Mashashige.” He turned to face Ryan and his friends. “This is also bounding on the gaijin who are the honored guests here.”
Ryan nodded to show that he understood, whispering to the others, “Shogun loses and the ronin walks. Nobody is to try and stop him.”
“Stupes,” Jak hissed under his breath.
Yashimoto had nearly finished. “There is no quarter given, but the laws of Bushido will operate. This fight is to the dying.”
He turned to the ronin. “Now you may speak.”
The skinny outlaw had a high-pitched voice, pushed higher by his obvious and sudden nervousness at the imminent fight.
“I thank the warrior Yashimoto for his speaking and I thank Shogun Mashashige for giving me this chance of fight. It is just.” He coughed and fell silent. It looked as if he’d finished, and there was a general clearing of throats and shuffling of feet from the audience.
“When they getting on with it?” J.B. whispered. “Too much jaw, and not enough war.”
But the ronin hadn’t finished. He stopped and scattered white granules from an earthenware pot at his feet, bowing to the four quarters of the courtyard.
“Salt,” Hideyoshi explained. “As they sprinkle in a basho in sumo wrestling.”
“I give my soul to the honor of my ancestors and my poor body to my sword,” the ronin cried, his voice soaring ever higher. There was a large storm crow, perched on the peak of the roof, preening its iridescent feathers. It suddenly flew away into the evening sky, cawing furiously at being disturbed by the shout of the samurai.