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wood. At the top, a servant helped Akitada remove his boots. The steward Kaibara also removed his shoes and donned a pair of brocade slippers. Akitada noted the gray in his hair and close-trimmed beard, though the steward’s movements were those of a much younger, and well-trained, soldier. They entered a large gallery, its’ walls covered with weapons and armor. Here Uesugi Makio, son and heir to the ailing lord of Takata, awaited them.
     
    As a warlord, Makio was a distinct disappointment. A short man in his fifties, with thinning gray hair, mustache, and chin beard, he looked more like a self-satisfied civil servant. At one time perhaps well-muscled, he had become heavy, and his eyes were mere slits between rolls of fat. Perhaps his paunch or the stiff brown brocade robe prevented him from bowing more deeply. He murmured the formal phrases of greeting.
     
    Akitada disliked him instantly, but much depended on his goodwill, and so he made an effort. “Ah, Uesugi,” he said genially. “A great pleasure to meet you at last. I hope I’m not late. The weather is turning and the wind was against us all the way.”
     
    “Not at all. Your Excellency is most punctual. I apologize for the dreadful inconvenience of traveling so far only to be offered rough country fare in crude surroundings.”
     
    The usual polite formula, delivered mechanically. Akitada tried again. “On the contrary, I have looked forward to this visit. You have a magnificent home.” It certainly made for a telling contrast with the tribunal accommodations. “And I congratulate you on the ingenuity of the fortifications. You need not fear enemy attacks.”
     
    For some reason, Uesugi stiffened further. “Your Excellency is too kind. Fortunately our defenses have never been tested. If you will step this way, the other guests are waiting to meet you.”
     
    Akitada sighed. It promised to be a difficult evening.
     
    They entered a large room which would not have shamed an imperial prince. Heavy timbers supported it and crisscrossed its ceiling. Three of the walls were sliding screens painted with mountain landscapes and hunting scenes, The fourth consisted of shuttered doors. Akitada guessed that the doors led to the gallery he had seen from below. At the moment they were almost hidden by the woven reed curtains with large crimson silk tassels that surrounded a seating area in the center of the room.
     
    Cushions lay on thick matting there, candles and oil lamps were placed around, and large bronze braziers filled with glowing charcoal heated the area.
     
    Five men stood together in a small group. Four were strangers to Akitada. The fifth he recognized as the commandant of the garrison. Captain Takesuke, in his late twenties like Akitada, was not in uniform tonight. The others were an old monk; a very handsome, tall man in his forties; a short, fat man in his fifties; and another short, elderly, and very ugly individual. They approached and bowed as Uesugi made the introductions.
     
    The cleric in the black robe and brocade stole was Hokko, abbot of the city’s large Buddhist temple. Akitada disliked Buddhism and avoided its clergy whenever he could. Now he was forced to apologize, with some embarrassment, for not having paid this man a courtesy visit yet. He was rewarded with a smile and a pleasant invitation.
     
    Takesuke, who had mainly impressed Akitada with his standoffish manner on their last encounter, was, if anything, even cooler tonight. They nodded warily to each other. Uesugi smiled and clapped the captain on the shoulder. “My friend can be relied upon to keep the peace in the city,” he said to Akitada. “You may leave matters safely in his hands.”
     
    What matters? Was Uesugi suggesting that he, as acting governor, could not or should not maintain law and order in his own province? Akitada was also unpleasantly surprised by the apparent friendly relations between the warlord and the commander of the military guard. As a rule