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Festival! If I join fools as these, surely it will be me who next needs an avenger.”
    Prince, bonze and woman were unruffled. The vassal bit back a reply. The bonze smiled with excessive politeness and asked,
    â€œDoes the lucky gambler have no name?”
    A samurai with no name was no samurai at all. It was not a very subtle insult; but coming from a monk, it might be excused as ignorance of samurai manners. The ronin squinted at the daring bonze, then answered,
    â€œCall me Ich ’yama.”
    â€œNumber one mountain!” said the bonze, laughing. “If that is the only name you have, it will do.”
    Tomoe intervened more seriously, “I presume Okio has given us each ten names. The total is fifty. Because there is a festival and many willing girls, we can assume the fifty assassins will remain in Isso for a while. They will leave at festival’s end, the day after tomorrow.”
    The five avengers had put their swords back together and sheathed them. Hidemi Hirota leaned toward Tomoe and said, “We must kill them before they leave!”
    Ich ’yama snorted derisively. “Brilliant deduction, Hidemi-sama.” The ronin used the suffix denoting godhood or superiority. It was too unsubtle a jab. Hidemi stood from his knees to face the ronin. They were of equal height but Hidemi was wider.
    â€œPlease,” said Prince Tahara. “We must all like each other for a day or two. I suggest we divide into two pairs and investigate the saké houses and the low district. Bonze Shindo can remain here to attend the corpses. The bodies will need to be disposed of secretly, lest the magistrate discover the murders and our plot before our task is completed. We will rejoin Shindo in this garden before dusk tonight and report what we have found.”
    Ich ’yama’s scruffy face was bent over a group of flowers, sniffing. When he looked up, he sneezed. He said, “Tomoe Gozen and I will go together.”
    â€œWill that do?” young Prince Tahara asked Tomoe. She did not answer. “Then Hidemi Hirota and I will go together. None of us must be conspicuous!”
    The two pairs left the misleading peace of the gardens, going slowly as to be unnoticed. The monk Shindo stood alone among the trees and blossoms. He did not move.
    â€œIt’s Tana-bata,” Ich ’yama said to Tomoe. “Are you always this unaffected?” The ronin looked left and right at the happy couples and hopeful singles. He stopped occasionally to read the poems which hung on bamboo bushes and trees.
    â€œThere is serious business to attend,” said Tomoe.
    â€œDeath is forever near the sides of samurai. This does not mean we cannot stop long enough to appreciate beauty. We should be even more appreciative of beauty than others, for it could always be the last we see.”
    â€œIf a samurai has no time for baths,” said Tomoe, “he has no time for beauty.”
    Ich ’yama was struck soundly. “My scent offends you?” he asked good-naturedly. “Come with me to a public bath and we’ll rectify the problem.”
    Tomoe repeated herself firmly: “There is serious business to attend.”
    A beautiful maiden in silk kimono played koto, the instrument setting in front of her on the floor of the porch. Beside her was a table filled with offerings for Weaver Maid and Herdsman. Ich ’yama stopped to listen. He looked sentimental. Tomoe stopped beside him, but was annoyed by the interruption. Ich ’yama said softly, so as not to bother the koto player, “On Star Festival, Tomoe, many lovers meet for the first time!”
    Tomoe’s eyes narrowed. She did not reply. She and Ich ’yama strolled on. The ronin still yammered,
    â€œSome of this poetry is nice!” He dawdled again, looking at a strip of paper in a tree and quoting, “‘Star Maiden weeps but is not unhappy. Parted by the River, still Herdsman is faithful.’”