White Serpent Castle by Lensey Namioka Read Free Book Online Page B

favorite pastime.
    The idea of a moon-viewing party originated with the noblemen of the imperial court at Miyako, who were experts at elaborate diversions. At first the members of the warrior class had been contemptuous of the nobles and their decadent life. But gradually many of the more wealthy warlords began to adopt the practices of the noblemen.
    Zenta suspected that the moon-viewing mound in Lord Okudaira’s castle had been built at the suggestion of Lady Kaede. A noblewoman herself, she was familiar with the life of the imperial court.
    Zenta smiled to himself as he watched the castle samurai blunder about the twisted paths of the garden, dutifully uttering praises to the moon. As practiced by these provincial warriors, the moon-viewing party became a grotesque exercise.
    Curious to see what the envoy made of all this, he looked around until he caught sight of that official. The other man was, in fact, looking in his direction, and he suddenly had the conviction that the envoy was simply waiting for an opportunity to speak privately with him.
    As soon as the envoy caught Zenta’s eye, he began slowly approaching. The chamberlain, talking without pause, followed his guest of honor. The other man’s coldness only increased his efforts to please, and the envoy soon had the frustrated expression of a man who could not shake off a buzzing fly.
    â€œAh, these gifted young people!” exclaimed the chamberlain, pointing to Matsuzo who was already reciting his first verses to the moon. “How it brings back memories of my own youth when I used to compose poetry right in the face of danger!”
    The envoy’s interest in the chamberlain’s youth did not seem to have increased since dinner. He merely gave a curt nod and moved off, trying to edge his way around the chamberlain’s portly figure toward Zenta.
    â€œPlease don’t overlook this beautiful stone lantern!” said the chamberlain, following his guest closely. “I’m told that it is older than the castle itself.”
    Help for the envoy arrived in the form of his chief retainer, Saemon. “I know that you are an expert on poetry, sir,” he said to the chamberlain. “Can you come and settle our dispute? One of the men claimed that by giving the Chinese reading to the word, he would have the proper number of syllables in his poem. The rest of us said that this should not be allowed.” Zenta frankly doubted that there was such a poetic dispute. Most of the samurai he saw didn’t look capable of writing any poetry at all, much less worry about the Chinese reading of a word.
    The chamberlain, however, looked greatly flattered by Saemon’s request and allowed himself to be led away. While he was arbitrating in the dispute, the envoy beckoned to Zenta, and the two men walked away until they were at the edge of an artificial pond.
    But the chamberlain dealt with the poetic dispute all too quickly. Looking around frantically, he found his guest of honor. “Ah, yes, I see that you are admiring that rock,” he cried, panting a little as he ran up to the two men. “This is the volcanic rock that I was telling you about. What a matchless shape! After contemplating it, I always feel that my spirit has been refreshed!”
    Saemon suddenly appeared out of the shadows. Just as he reached the group by the pond, he stumbled and fell heavily against the chamberlain.
    Zenta heard a cry, followed by a loud splash. “I’m so sorry!” cried Saemon. “How clumsy of me!”
    â€œYou tripped me!” yelled the chamberlain, splashing and floundering in the water.
    Zenta and Saemon both leaned over the pond and offered their hands. But the bank was muddy, and the chamberlain slipped back several times before they finally succeeded in pulling him out of the water.
    â€œI certainly hope that the dye of your gorgeous kimono is colorfast,” said Saemon as he tried to wring water from his