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samurai called Saemon. Matsuzo remembered him as the man who had spoken to the chamberlain in the courtyard that afternoon. Saemon had a pleasant face, cleverlooking and humorous. Although not powerfully built like Jihei, he gave the impression of wiry strength. For some reason Matsuzo suspected that Saemon was more intelligent than his master the envoy. Perhaps it was the way the envoy frequently looked at his retainer, as if for guidance.
    Matsuzo’s eyes finally went back to Zenta, who was hunched over his tray wholly occupied with food. In fact his concentration on food was almost embarrassing to see.
    Meanwhile the chamberlain was struggling to make pleasant conversation with his unresponsive guest of honor. “Did you have good weather on your way up? It can get quite blustery at this time of the year.”
    â€œI didn’t notice the weather, since I was traveling on an important mission,” answered the envoy coldly.
    It was heavy going, but the chamberlain was not easily discouraged. “I used to make the trip to the daimyo’s capital quite often when I was a youth. In recent years, of course, my duties at the castle have prevented me from traveling. But I still remember one particularly bad river that had to be forded. Do you know the one I mean?”
    â€œAn account of your youthful adventures is no doubt of overwhelming interest to some of the people in this room,” said the envoy, openly yawning.
    The chamberlain flushed. Turning to scowl at the serving girl holding the wine jar behind him, he said, “Stop dawdling and hurry up with that saké! Who was responsible for your training, anyway?”
    â€œSince the girl was probably trained in Lord Okudaira’s household,” said the envoy acidly, “perhaps it’s a good thing that your master is not alive to hear your criticism.”
    That silenced the chamberlain, and for the next few minutes, conversation in the dining hall languished. Then the chamberlain emptied three cups of saké in rapid succession and picked up the courage to try again. He launched into a description of the castle, and he finally seemed to have found a topic that interested his guests.
    Matsuzo saw that Saemon’s eyes were bright with interest as he listened to the chamberlain’s talk on the castle’s fortification, and even the envoy’s sneer was less pronounced. Only Zenta, busily eating, paid no attention.
    â€œAnd by the time the stone base for the outer wall was completed,” said the chamberlain, “our castle became one of the most strongly fortified in this part of the country.” He turned to Zenta. “You have traveled widely, I’m told, and you must have seen a great deal. What do you think of it?”
    â€œWhat?” Zenta’s reply was muffled. He hurriedly swallowed some fish and held out his wine cup to the waiting servant. “I think that serving it raw with chopped herbs and soy sauce is an excellent way of preparing this fish, but I also like it rubbed with coarse salt and broiled.”
    He seemed not to notice the smiles that greeted his remark, and he added, “By the way, it seems ungrateful to mention this after receiving all this lavish hospitality, but when I was taking a bath this evening, I felt something icy crawl down my neck. It was a most peculiar sensation. Perhaps you should have the bathrooms here checked for pests?”
    In the silence that followed, Matsuzo heard a faint plop. A piece of raw fish had fallen from the chamberlain’s nervous hand into his wine cup.
    The envoy was the first to speak. “Since I arrived at this castle, there have been disturbances in the night. My retainer Saemon made inquiries, and he told me that people here claim the disturbances were caused by something called the White Serpent . . .”
    Jihei broke in. “That’s just pure feminine hysteria!”
    â€œYou mean that I was suffering from feminine