Ronin. William Dale Jennings

the Ronin recovered quickly. The old man was out of his mind. That was the only possible explanation.

      The simple diagnosis elated him. He jumped up, jingled the gold and whirred the precious blade through the softness of the air. It must have a name! He looked around and found it at his feet. The prince of blades would be “Weed Killer,” a good companion to his short sword that he’d named, with the same exuberance, “Pecker Two.”

      The feel of the hilt in his two hands sent a conviction of almost supernatural power up his arms. Of course he’d gotten what he came here for! That and a bag of gold to boot! It was silly of him to have run all the way from the village. Oh, he was the darling of all the great and little gods, and knew in his inmost guts that something outrageously fine was in store for him.

      And soon.

      A small extravagance….

      In the great Eastern Capital, there lived a lord of middle importance. He was the subject of much behind-the-sleeve humor because he held the contentment of his wife to be of prime concern. At times, he carried this uxoriousness to surprising extremes. Few forgot that he had once given one of his palaces a quarter turn so as to improve the view from his lady’s apartments.

      An excess of ridicule was precluded by the fact that his wife was unquestionably lovely in manner, face and form, and downright beautiful at those times of serenity when she seemed to be a portrait of herself. Her very presence was a pool of peace reminding those about her that this moment at hand outweighs all that is past and to come, and is, in fact, all that we possess. None who looked upon her at these times were ever humorous again behind their sleeves about their lord.

      Now, while this serenity was a refuge to men of lofty minds like her husband, it was a torment to many others. The lady received ceaseless notes from impassioned and anonymous courtiers who described her own virtues to her and threatened a variety of things if she didn’t become impassioned about theirs. Had any signed their letters, she would have still passed them on to her husband and remained aloof.

      The fan mail reached its climax when one writer delivered his letter in person, having become so unhinged by her remoteness that he actually stepped behind her personal screen on the Moon Viewing Porch where she was avoiding the sun under a large hat and many veils. Without seeing her face but shattered by her presence, he touched his forehead to the hem of her robe and remained prone, murmuring extravagances. Her ladies in attendance could be heard all over the Capital.

      The position of her admirer was too great a temptation to resist. The Lady drew her pocket poniard, the kaiken which all noblewomen wore, and drove it into the back of his neck up to the hilt. Perhaps sustained by the pride of having been personally stabbed by his Beloved, the rash man took three days to die. The Lady herself remained in an exquisite swoon throughout the Hour of the Cock, a rare feat during such busy and exciting early evening hours. The entire Court sent messages of sympathy and commendation, while thrilling with hope that the dead man had been a very much alive lover.

      She neither denied it nor ever wore the little knife again.

      The whole trifling incident distressed the Lord exceedingly. It revealed clearly the need for expert and faithful attendants. He must immediately procure at least two female naginata experts as constant armed companions for his Lady. He spent the following day auditioning the advanced students of the Imperial Ladies’ Fencing School. His distress receded in copious tea and the special excitement of fighting females.

      He stayed and stayed, discussing with the Master such proper irrelevancies as the unusually large flights of cranes this season. The cool little ladies were going through all of their forms a second time when he rose reluctantly, indicated two ravishing and cold-eyed honor students, and left, making Noh-like compliments on the tea.

      His wife bowed low after the formal presentation of the embroidered bodyguard. Undone by his own generosity, he didn’t notice that she looked at her new companions with the same cold eyes with which they looked at her. He hurried off to his apartments blinded by the lump in his throat. For giving makes us love both ourselves and the victims of our gifts.

      It was from these two lovely bodyguards that the Lord first heard of the Ronin. History forces the assumption that his Lady needed no protection that night, for these two related the Ronin’s story in their Lord’s private apartments over saké in the very latest hours.

      His eyes went wide as he heard how this astonishing warrior had been ambushed by three master swordsmen from the north and had defeated all of them in less time than it takes to tell it. And this was only the most recent of a long line of noble adventures in his search for a worthy lord. They were certain that he must be of a noble line himself and forced to flee his patrimony because of some misunderstanding with a cruel elder brother over a beautiful concubine.

      When one began describing details of the person of the Ronin, the Lord asked if she had personally seen his swordsmanship. Both swallowed and said No twice, then sat looking at him steadily with their cool eyes. At this, he swallowed and remarked that surely such a master would be too grand for so modest a palace as this. They both said No many times to this and, for some reason, began opening his robe and making most efficient love, each to an assigned area.

      Coincidentally, the Ronin just happened to be passing in the Capital City at that time and proved to be available when summoned for an exploratory interview.

      Oddly enough, the Lady protested and asked that the audience be canceled. Would not all this military build-up suggest to the idle Court that she daily teetered on the brink of rape? Furthermore, a master swordsman of this caliber might be one of those little extravagances that rouse the suspicions of a much overthrown Throne. At best, the talk would be most unpleasant and the attention enough to force one to take long trips faraway from the Palace.

      The Lord listened to her words gravely. He counted silently up to ten twice to give the impression that he was debating the matter, then finally sent a second message to the Ronin that the interview was no longer necessary. The Lady bowed low and murmured that she was overwhelmed by his consideration, and he hurried off to his apartments with another great lump in his throat.

      It came as a surprise to the entire Palace when the Ronin appeared for the audience anyway.