#inspired by yagyuu hijouken samon

[talesofedo]

This is a work of fiction. (I'm finally rewriting it.) You can find more information about my tumblr, Tales of Edo, here, and an index for this story’s chapters, anything else I've written, and my art, here.

...

Suigetsu (Samon’s Story) Loosely inspired by Yagyuu Hijouken Samon (manga) / Also on AO3 CW: graphic violence, abusive family, physical & psychological abuse

Chapter 1

It was already well into the hour of the rat and the bright full moon hung large and white in an inky sky, casting deep shadows across the formal garden of the secluded samurai mansion in the valley below. Gathering storm clouds raced across the blackness, pushed by the strong winds that had been gusting since late in the afternoon; winds that tore at the ancient maple at the center of the garden, scattering its crimson late-fall leaves like embers sparking from a fire.

Samon sat cross-legged in the center of the porch facing the garden, far enough from the edge that the overhanging roof shielded him from the thick raindrops that had begun falling just then, the only person still awake at this late hour.

He was dressed in a white kimono and light blue hakama as if readying himself for seppuku, and the brightness of his clothing contrasted with the dark wood of the veranda like a reflection of the moon above. He was watching the trees swaying in the distance, trying (and failing miserably) to calm his unfocused mind.

Early the previous morning, a messenger had arrived with a wrinkled letter sent by an acquaintance in Edo, a servant girl working in his clan’s upper mansion, who had once embarrassed herself by confessing her love to him when he was still a boy.

The letter, difficult to read because of her unpracticed handwriting, had been unsettling: she wrote that Munenori, Samon’s father, had been beside himself with rage after finding out about the stipend His Excellency the Shogun had granted Samon, and that he had dispatched Jubei, Samon’s eldest brother, to the Yagyu valley to “set things straight."

She didn’t know what this meant, said a scrawled addition at the end, but thought that he deserved a warning, considering his father’s and his brother’s tempers.

Samon appreciated her thoughtfulness in sending the letter, but the message had given him cause to anxiously pace around the mansion and its grounds ever since, trying to collect his thoughts and preparing for the worst. He almost wished he’d never received the letter at all, that he had been left in blissful ignorance until Jubei arrived at his doorstep.

He understood, at least on some basic level, why his father was angry: Tokugawa Iemitsu, who had inherited the post of Shogun following the death of his father, was in a precarious position because many of the daimyo opposed his succession and instead favored his younger brother, Tadanaga, whom they considered more suitable. Anything those men could use as fodder to strengthen their case, like the relationship Iemitsu and Samon had failed to keep secret, threatened not only the shogun, but by extension the Yagyu, Samon's family.

It was because of these politics Munenori had sent his son away months ago under the guise of illness, and why Samon was now little more than a prisoner in the old family home in Iga, two weeks’ travel from Edo.

Samon often wondered whether the politics surrounding their situation had occurred to Iemitsu. Certainly, he must have given it some thought before trying to return his lover to Edo with the stroke of a brush, by making him a daimyo in his own right and therefore subjecting him to the Edo posting, which required all daimyo to live in the city every other year; ironically, a measure originally devised to prevent rebellion against the shogunate.

But perhaps Iemitsu hadn’t considered it at all, had worried only about the two of them being kept apart for reasons he didn’t fully understand or care about.

Samon would have liked to think Iemitsu wouldn’t be so shortsighted, but he also knew just how impulsive he could be: once, when Iemitsu was still a teen, he’d stabbed his older lover to death just for looking at another man, though Samon had not seen that side of him as the young future Shogun matured.

He realized, of course, that worrying about Iemitsu’s intent or consideration made no difference now: what was done was done, and the only path left was the one moving forward, regardless of where it might lead. Logically, this made it entirely pointless to worry about the What Ifs of the situation.

However, Samon did worry about his father’s plans for “setting things straight,” as the girl had put it in her letter. He found it difficult to imagine any scenario that didn’t end in his own death, and he’d paced around his rooms and up and down the veranda for hours, apprehensively pondering whether a simple thing like blood ties would stand in the way of his father’s ambitions and desire for power.

Would this even enter his father’s mind, considering Samon was merely his third son, and additionally only the child of a mistress?

Eventually, and perhaps overdramatically, Samon had resigned himself to the idea that he would likely be killed once Jubei reached the Yagyu valley, and he’d dressed accordingly to await his brother’s arrival, which he supposed wouldn’t be too long after the courier’s.

By the time he sat down on the porch that night – and honestly, he couldn’t have slept even if he tried, just like he hadn’t slept the previous night – his thoughts were all over the place still, but somewhere at the back of his mind, he’d at least made peace with the idea of death. After all, if this was the price to pay to keep Iemitsu safe in his position as Shogun, wasn’t it worth such an insignificant life as his own?

How strange, he thought, that both my father and I share the common goal of keeping Iemitsu safe.

…

The initial thick, slow raindrops had turned into sheeting rain by the time Jubei arrived, dressed in black and dark green traveling clothes, climbing over the back wall into the garden like a common thief, rather than a visiting relative. It was a familiar entrance for Jubei, who had come and gone by means of this secret back route as a boy more times than Samon could count.

But this was no childhood escapade. Jubei already had his long sword unsheathed as he stood on the tiled roof of the wall, one foot planted firmly on either side of the center ridge while he surveyed the scene before him, like a large bird of prey perched on a tree branch, looking for a juicy mouse scurrying along the forest floor.

Seeing that his younger brother was waiting for him, he jumped down and walked casually along the stone path winding between landscape features, entirely unbothered by the rain dripping from his face and soaking into his clothes.

A small, satisfied smile curled the corners of his lips upward with contentment because his brother was expecting him, but his eyes were cold and disdainful, just as they had commonly looked at Samon in the past.

“I always hoped we’d get a chance to duel,” Jubei said when he was close enough for Samon to hear him over the rain pattering against the tiled porch roof. “I’m told some people think you’re the stronger swordsman, but we’ve never had a chance to measure our skills against each other in the fencing hall, let alone with real blades.”

This was so like Jubei: the obsession to be the stronger swordsman, the strongest swordsman, had not let up since Samon had replaced him as Iemitsu’s fencing instructor five years prior, and it stood to reason that he had only gained more real-life sword experience in his missions and wanderings since.

Samon had already played out in his mind numerous scenarios of how he might draw and strike with his sword tonight, and in each of them had found himself lacking in the face of his brother’s skill.

Jubei was many things: he was hateful and short-tempered, inconsiderate and self-important, ambitious and ruthless. But still, Samon could not deny the fact that Jubei was also an expert swordsman possessed of a strength and speed that was like a demon’s.

And Samon was scared. Terrified, really.

So, this was it, then.

Samon took a shaky breath and uncrossed his legs to rise, uncomfortably aware of the sweat slicking his palms as he reached for the sword that lay beside him, waiting to be drawn.

He found it unmovable, because someone, some shadowy figure suddenly standing behind him, had planted a foot against the sheath, pinning it in place against the floorboards. As distracted as Samon had been with anxiety, and with his focus solely on his elder brother, he’d never heard this second man approach, never even felt his presence. It served only to remind him in this split second of sheer panic of how inexperienced he still was, despite his years of training.

The thought flashed through his mind that his father would have been disappointed.

Samon tried to draw his blade from this awkward position, but next thing he knew, a coarse rope was slung around his neck. Instinctively, he brought up his hands to protect himself from being strangled, but before he could grab the rope, the man behind him kicked him between the shoulders, causing him to slam face first into the dark wood of the porch.

In the seconds it took Samon to taste the metallic bitterness of his own blood in his mouth and try to push himself upward, the man had knotted the rope at the nape of his neck, looped the two loose ends around his elbows to pin his arms against his sides, and bound his hands tightly in the small of his back. No matter how Samon struggled, he already knew there was no point: he was completely defenseless in front of Jubei.

“Why are you doing this?” he gasped, the rope pressing against his throat as he still pointlessly struggled to get to his feet. The man behind him pulled him backward and Samon came to sit awkwardly as Jubei approached.

“Ah, don’t give me that angry look,” Jubei sneered, sheathing his sword. “Is this any way to greet your big brother?”

“Why would you go to such lengths?” Samon said, trying to keep his voice calm and steady but hearing it waver all the same. He was both seething with anger that his own brother would resort to using one of their clan’s shinobi to trap him like this, and utterly terrified at what Jubei had planned, now that a fair duel seemed out of the question. “I know you don’t believe I’m better with the sword, or that you need to resort to dirty tricks to kill me.”

Jubei shrugged. “I’m not allowed to kill you, so what need is there for a duel?”

Samon couldn’t hide his confusion as he studied his brother’s face for anything that might give away a hint of what would happen next. Of all the scenarios he had considered over the past two days (and there had been many), he hadn’t considered a single one that did not involve his own death, unless he’d somehow be able to best Jubei in a duel.

After all, what easier way was there to solve his father’s dilemma: If the youngest son presented a danger to both the Shogun and the Yagyu, then disposing of the youngest son would fix the issue, since merely sending him away had not. And although understanding the reasoning gave him little comfort, it was at least a thought process Samon could follow and he’d prepared, in his own way, for this worst-case scenario.

But this, whatever this was, loomed dark and foreboding in its uncertainty.

“If you aren’t here to kill me,” Samon asked tentatively, “then why are you here?”

The rain had started to let up by now and Jubei smoothed back some of the soggy strands of hair clinging to his face as he stepped onto the porch, leaving muddy footprints in his wake.

Looking around the yard as if he were studying its features, the large rocks and manicured shrubs, he explained: “Father sent me to ensure you’re no threat to our family due to your …” A sarcastic chuckle interrupted his sentence. “…intimate friendship with our Shogun. But, for reasons that are a mystery to me, he doesn’t want you dead. He wants to keep you around.” A shrug. “Your mother is his favorite mistress, after all, so perhaps he’s feeling some kind of attachment. Perhaps she begged him for your life. Who the fuck knows.”

He turned to face Samon. “At any rate, he doesn’t want you dead. But he does want me to ensure that you won’t be seeing our Shogun again and that the stipend and title, with which he tried to return you to Edo so desperately, are rendered irrelevant.”

Although Jubei’s tone was light and dismissive, Samon could detect the undertone of anger, which he supposed originated in his brother’s disappointment at having to miss out on a long hoped-for duel, and he worried this might spell disaster because Jubei had a terrible temper – always had, even when they were both still children – which showed itself in a sadistic side. Jubei truly was their father’s son in that regard.

“So, here I am.” The elder brother continued, spreading his arms wide to indicate the mansion and gardens around them, irritation plain on his face. “An errand boy sent to do father’s bidding, sneaking around the Yagyu valley like a thief. And why? Because my little brother can’t be entrusted with simply doing his job as fencing instructor. No, you just had to spread your cheeks for the Shogun like a cheap whore, caring nothing about rank or position. You truly are an embarrassment.”

He leaned in close, breath warm against Samon’s face, and, with a smirk that exposed his pointy canine teeth, he produced a small dagger from within his belt.

“It’s not death, sorry, but I promise it will hurt a lot.”

As if on cue, the man behind Samon grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him flat onto his back, tied arms trapped awkwardly beneath his body so that the boney parts of his wrists and elbows ground painfully into the unforgiving wood of the floorboards.

For a moment, their eyes met and Samon recognized the shinobi as Genjiro’s son, Taro, whom he had known since childhood. He felt betrayed that someone he’d once counted as a friend would do this to him, and at the same time realized what a ridiculous sentiment this was, considering Taro was in service to Munenori, just as his father Genjiro had been before him, and any friendship that might have existed between the two boys as children did not extent to their respective positions in adulthood.

Taro placed his hands on either side of Samon’s face to hold his head steady, and Jubei lowered himself over his brother, knees to either side of his ribcage, and leaned forward to look closely at his face.

Samon lay still and quiet, knowing there was no point in struggling now and having resigned himself despondently to whatever was going to happen next.

He couldn’t think of any other course of action to take; his whole life had been one of doing as he was told, no matter if the orders came from his father, his elder brother, or the Shogun. If His Excellency asked for a duel, Samon would let him win. If his father wanted to use him as a pawn in some political scheme, he would hold his breath and wait for it to be over, regardless of the sacrifices he had to make.

Once, he'd told Iemitsu that he didn’t fear death because he was dead already, though that had been a bit of a lie. He feared death. He just knew that his life had never belonged to himself in the first place.

Jubei studied his younger brother’s face, droplets of water dripping down from his hair and rolling off Samon’s cheeks as he leaned in close.

“Get a good look, little brother,” he said, his pale brown eyes searching Samon’s, which looked at him through long lashes. “I’ll be the last person you’ll ever see.”

He touched the side of his brother’s face gently, calloused fingers against smooth, pale skin, then brought his hand up to force open Samon’s right eye. With a flash of steel caught briefly by the moon’s brightness, he flipped the small knife, holding it as one might hold a writing brush.

Samon took a sharp breath in, reflexively trying to wrench his head from Taro’s grip to no avail.

Jubei paused, clearly savoring his younger brother’s expression of terror, of the pupils widening at the sight of the sharp blade, and then he brought the knife down to carefully, surgically, lift the eye from its socket and cut its attachments, all in one swift motion not entirely unlike shucking an oyster.

Samon bit down on his lip to keep from screaming as he felt the warmth of his own blood spill from his eye socket, but his body stiffened and he couldn’t keep his breath from quickening, coming in harsh gasps no matter how hard he tried to control himself to deny Jubei the satisfaction of hearing him cry out. He felt betrayed by his own body when he realized he couldn’t even keep himself from spilling tears.

Jubei noticed, of course. He switched the knife to his left hand and cupped Samon’s cheek with his right, wearing an expression of satisfaction that made Samon feel utterly nauseous.

“How sweet,” Jubei said, his voice soft. “Actual tears.” He used his thumb to wipe them, then licked it as if savoring the salty taste.

“Do you suppose a person can still cry if they don’t have any eyes,” he wondered aloud, not expecting an answer, as he switched the knife back to his right and turned it on his brother once more.

His sarcastic smile was the last thing Samon saw before his world went dark and blood spilled across the other half of his face. He clenched his teeth so hard he was afraid they would break from the strain, but anything was better than giving Jubei the joy of hearing him scream. Even so, he couldn’t suppress a whimper in his agony, and his body, which he’d tried so hard to control even through the pain, was shaking now, shivering as if with cold, and he could do nothing to stop it.

Jubei sat back on his heels, wiping his hands and the small blade on his black tattsuke bakama before reaching into his sleeve and producing a small square piece of silk, which he spread across his palm, carefully placing the two eyeballs on it.

He studied the now lifeless dark brown irises, pupils gaping black in their centers, and seemed amused by the bits of optical nerve still attached to the back, which flopped limply like dead fish as he turned the globes between his fingers.

He stood up and stepped away, engrossed in playing with his trophies. Distractedly, he ordered Taro to wipe up the bloody mess lest it should stain the floorboards of the family home.

Taro helped Samon sit up and began gently wiping his face with a tenugui, whispering quietly so that Jubei would not overhear: “Please bear with it just a little longer, wakasama. I have prepared something for the pain and will give it to you as soon as your brother leaves.”

After a few minutes, Jubei wrapped the eyes with the cloth and tucked them into a pouch for safekeeping. Then he turned and said, almost as if to himself, “Our dear Shogun has always been so attracted to your dark eyes and those pretty lashes.” Every word was dripping with disdain. “I don’t suppose he would find you as attractive now, were he to lay eyes on you.”

You think him so shallow, Samon thought, but he couldn’t help wondering how Iemitsu would react if he saw him like this. After all, he had so often praised Samon for his appearance, just as Jubei said. He tried to shake the thought from his mind.

“Ah, but don’t worry, little brother,” said Jubei, watching him carefully. “You needn't be concerned that he’ll see you again. After all, these lovely little eyeballs I’ll be taking back to Edo…” He jiggled the pouch in his hand, even though his brother obviously couldn’t see it. “… these will serve as proof that you’ve lost your mind being separated from your lover for such a long time. He’ll want nothing to do with a madman who’s gauged out his own eyes, I suppose.”

So, that was the story father was planning to fabricate.

It was brilliant, in a way. Keeping Samon sequestered in the Yagyu valley had not done the trick. Instead, it had served only to embarrass Munenori, making him the subject of gossip around Edo castle once his son had been awarded that ridiculous stipend.

This, on the other hand, would solve the problem: once rumors that Samon had taken leave of his senses and disfigured himself to such an extent would begin circulating around the city, as assuredly they would with Jubei’s help, Munenori could rest safe in the knowledge that the Shogun would at last heed his advisors’ words and sever all ties with his former lover.

Surely, it would be a bit of an embarrassment to the Yagyu, but since Samon was only a third son and the child of a mistress, the outrage would certainly be brief. And the masses would love it: a story of a former lover driven to despair by their separation. It was the kind of gossip that kept the city going.

“Of course,” Jubei said, turning back from the end of the porch. “Our poor shogun will have to find himself a new wakashu on whom to dote his affections now. Though I doubt that will be much of a problem. The city is literally teeming with capable young samurai and since His Excellency certainly doesn’t hold his lovers to particularly high standards, as we’ve seen with you, perhaps he will find himself a whole harem of pretty, young, disposable boys to suit his fancies now. Don’t you think, brother? He might fill his whole Ooku with young men.”

“You’ve no right to mock Uesama,” Samon said through gritted teeth. “You’ve done what you came here to do. What reason is there for you to stand here and mock him.”

Jubei chuckled. “Oh, but it’s so much fun seeing you all riled up. I suppose the sex must have been quite something for you to become so utterly attached. It’s very sweet.”

He crossed back to Samon in a few swift steps, grabbed his brother by the chin, and slammed him backwards into the floorboards so hard Samon saw stars and, for a minute, thought he was going to pass out.

Jubei pulled him back into a sitting position by the front of his clothing, his younger brother too dazed from the sudden assault to resist. “But here you are still thinking you can talk back to me. You just don’t learn, do you? Your job – your only job – is to shut the fuck up and do as you’re fucking told.”

He grasped Samon’s chin and forced his rough fingers, callused from a lifetime of sword training, into his brother’s mouth, forcing it open.

“Don’t even think about biting me,” he warned as he pinched his tongue between two fingers and pulled it forward. “You’ll want to hold nice and still so I can make a straight cut. If you fight me … well, I might just rip it out instead. Your choice.”

He unsheathed his little knife again and sliced through his brother’s tongue, severing it just forward of its base. Then he pushed Samon back down, gave him a kick for good measure, and cast the severed tongue into the yard.

“We’ll have no more talking back now, will we?” he asked calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

Turning to Taro, he added, “I think I’ll find a servant to heat the bath for me. Get this cleaned up. Once dawn breaks, have someone fetch the doctor. And don’t even think about untying him.”

“Yes, master Jubei.” Taro shifted nervously, watching Jubei disappear around the corner toward the main part of the house, then looked down at Samon who lay on his side in a puddle of his own blood, his body shaking from pain and blood loss.

“I am so sorry,” Taro said quietly. “Please don’t bear me a grudge, wakasama. These things are out of my control.”

Of course, they are. Just as they are out of my control as well.

Samon pulled his legs up, curling into himself, and pressed his head against the smooth wood of the floorboards. If there was only something he could do to make the pain stop. The coppery taste and smell of his own blood were so overwhelming in his nose and mouth they made him retch and he just wanted this to be over.

He lifted his head and slammed it into the floorboards.

He would never have been truly happy sequestered away in the Yagyu Valley, but only a handful of days ago, before the message of his appointment and stipend had reached him, he’d believed that he could at least be content to carve out a small life of his own here.

He’d considered opening a school to teach commoners’ children to read and write, just as his uncle Toshikatsu, his father’s eldest brother, had done after he was injured in battle and no longer able to fulfill his obligations to his lord. Perhaps he might even have taken up teaching the sword in the family dojo or build a fencing hall of his own and teach anyone interested in learning.

But now, even the hope for a simple life had been taken from him.

He slammed his head into the floorboards a second time. And again. Perhaps he could at least succeed in ending his life on this night. Not to spite Jubei, though he had no doubt that his father would see it that way, but to end the misery he was enduring.

But when he tried to hit his head into the floor again, Taro pulled him upright and wrapped his arms around his body, stopping him from continuing.

“Wakasama, please, calm yourself.”

Almost reflexively, Samon smashed his head backward into Taro’s face, hearing the crunch of his skull against the other’s nose. It was to Taro’s great credit that he didn’t curse out loud, but he brought one of his hands up and held Samon’s head back, restraining him from doing anything else.

“Please, wakasama,” he said again. “Calm down so I can see to your wounds. Your life should not end tonight. Don’t give them that satisfaction.”

Samon supposed “them” meant his brother and father, but he cared little whether they were or were not satisfied. He was tired of being a pawn in their political games, tired of being powerless against the forces that controlled his life. But he knew there was nothing he could do and he was tired, so very tired, of continuing down this path that was being laid out for him.

He felt Taro’s fingers on his mouth, a sudden cool touch against lips slippery with blood, and a small round object was placed in his mouth, the finger gently pushing it to the back of what remained of his tongue.

“Please swallow this,” Taro said. “It will take away the pain.”

.

Index | Next Chapter

[talesofedo]

This is a work of fiction. You can find more information about my blog 江戸物語 (Tales of Edo) and an index for this story’s chapters by clicking here.

…

Samon’s Story Inspired by Yagyuu Hijouken Samon (manga) / Also on AO3 CW: No specific warnings for this chapter

Chapter 8 Procession

It was already very late in the afternoon before Samon, Munefuyu, and Kenichi set back out for their return journey to Edo. They had been offered tea by Hana’s family, which they gladly accepted while repeatedly taking turns offering their sincere thanks for the family’s help.

Munefuyu, still beside himself with joy that Samon had been found safe, attempted to offer the family the entirety of the travel purse he had carried in his kimono for his interrupted trip, which they politely refused and which he repeatedly insisted they take. In the end, he pressed it into Hana’s hands as they said their good-byes, in hopes that she might later persuade her family to accept it since they had no other choice.

They walked back at a comfortable pace, Samon’s hand resting on Mune’s elbow as a guide. Kenichi relayed to Samon the epic amount of abuse Munenori had hurled at Jubei that morning and explained how Jubei had hurriedly packed his things and left Edo not too long after. Samon found this hard to believe, but Mune assured him it was true. While he hadn’t been party to the argument, he had not seen his father so upset in a very long time. Not since his excellency gave Samon that stipend, at any rate – although that was not a comparison he would voice aloud in present company, considering it was what set this entire mess into motion two years ago.

Before long, their return journey had brought them back into the city’s but here, they found themselves in a veritable logjam of people and traffic blocking the entire road, pushing and jostling, yelling and complaining.

Kenichi stood on his toes and craned his neck to see ahead, but all he could make out were more people and, somewhere way ahead of them, some flags at what he assumed was the bridge.

“What’s going on,” he asked an artisan carrying a bundle of his wares who stood beside them. “Did something happen?”

“I heard that the bridge up ahead is blocked by an overturned cart,” an old woman said from behind her roadside stand where she was selling grilled fish. “It’s been like this for a little while and now the shogun’s procession is all jammed up in it, too.”

“Yes, yes,” another vendor said from beside the grilled fish stall. Her small stand sold radishes, both pickled and fresh. “The shogun was on his way back from Senso-ji once again.” She handed a radish to a customer who had given her a few coins, before continuing, “He’s too nice, our new shogun. The old one would have had his samurai dump the broken cart right off the bridge and into the river and cut those poor farmers down to boot. This one is going to wait for them to clear it. He has the patience of Kannon, this one.”

The other old woman nodded. “Good. It’s not the farmer’s fault if his cart breaks, why should he be killed for it.”

Munefuyu grabbed a handful of Samon’s kimono sleeve and began pulling him forward into the crowd. Kenichi pushed in behind them, having been caught by surprise and bewildered at the sudden rush forward into this mess of people who were bumping them left and right.

“Mune, wait!” Kenichi shouted from behind. “Where are you going?”

Samon, too, was reluctant to follow his brother into a chaos of people he could not see, terrified that they would get separated and he would get trampled. He pulled to the side, bumping into people as he went, and eventually wound up with his back against the side of a soba noodle stand, refusing to go further. He shook his arm from his brother’s grip, found his hand, and hurriedly wrote into Mune’s palm, What are you doing?

“Don’t you understand, Samon?” Mune raised his voice so his brother could hear him over the clamor of the crowd. “It’s his excellency’s procession in that mess ahead of us. This might be your only chance.”

What? Samon signed.

“It’s his excellency. His procession. Don’t you think it’s fate that the two of you wound up on this same road, stuck in this same traffic jam? Don’t you want him to see you, to let him know you’re still alive and in Edo?”

Samon shook his head, his hair flying, but tears started running down his cheeks all the same.

Mune took a deep breath. “Father told his excellency that you’re dead, that you’ve died of illness. He’s been grieving you ever since; it’s why he goes to the Kannon temple so often to pray. I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner. This might be your only chance to let him know it’s not true, that you’re right here. If we don’t go now and they clear the road or he turns his procession around and goes a different way, we may never get another chance.”

Samon still refused to move and to Mune, it seemed like he was more likely to run in the opposite direction instead. Mune shouted, “What is the matter with you!”

Samon wrote into his palm, slowly, He won’t want me.

Mune was utterly exasperated. “Really? Is that really the kind of person his excellency is? Because that’s not what he sounded like when you’ve told me about him. Don’t you love him anymore?”

He grabbed Samon’s wrist, realizing that if he didn’t force his younger brother to make this move, he never would, because this was Samon’s way. He would always do as he was told by his father or his elder brothers, regardless of what it cost him. Mune would no longer let him. He couldn’t allow him to let this chance pass to always wonder what might have been.

He pushed forward into the crowd.

Samon gave in, allowing himself to be pulled along, resigned to the fact that this may well be what fate had in store for him after all. Should Iemitsu no longer want him, he was also resigned to the fact that his father would certainly cut him down once he became aware of the scene that he and Munefuyu were about to cause. He just hoped Mune would make it out of this unscathed.

It was difficult going but Mune was pushing and elbowing as he went, stepping on people’s feet and bumping into vendors and luggage alike. People shouted at them and Mune cursed back. Kenichi was lost somewhere far behind them, presumably also fighting his way forward.

It was not long before Mune saw the flags bearing the Tokugawa mon at the front of the crowd and spotted his excellency himself on horseback, the beautiful white horse held by an attendant. The shogun was patiently waiting for the overturned cart to be turned upright and its load to be replaced and secured once again. It looked as if they were almost done.

Munefuyu redoubled his efforts to push through the crowd but now found himself butting up against the shogun’s samurai who had formed a cordon around his excellency, facing outward, and unlike the townspeople, they pushed back, their hands reaching for their swords when Mune plowed into them.

“I am Yagyu Munefuyu!” Mune shouted at the men, trying to ram through them with his shoulder. “My father is advisor and sword instructor to the house of Tokugawa, Yagyu Munenori! Let me pass! Let me pass, you idiots! It’s important!”

Not people to put up with being called idiots, the samurai pushed back.

“I don’t care if you’re his excellency’s mother. Stop pushing!” One shouted, unsheathing his daito among the crowd. The people who had been pushed around them began to panic, trying to back away from the scene while at the same time being pushed forward by the people behind them who could not see what was happening.

In the chaos, Mune’s hand was pulled from Samon’s wrist and Samon was buffeted back in the crowd and pushed to the ground, feet stomping around and across him. It was all he could do to cover his head and hope he wouldn’t get trampled because he could not get back on his feet with all the panicking people surrounding him. From a distance, he heard his brother’s terrified screams, “Samon! Where are you? Samon!”

Mune was now trying to turn and push into the crowd behind him in frantic search of his brother, but the samurai he had been arguing with and who had drawn his sword grabbed him and held him by the arm. “This is enough!” he bellowed at Mune. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Why are the shogun’s samurai drawing their swords in a crowd of townspeople?” shouted an authoritative voice from behind them and a hush fell over the crowd in the immediate area who could see what was happening. The shogun himself had dismounted his horse and was standing behind the row of samurai who were arguing with Munefuyu, his hand on his own swords.

One of the samurai bowed. “Your excellency, this man tried to push his way into your procession. We were concerned for your safety, your excellency!”

The other dragged Munefuyu forward, still holding him by the arm, and Iemitsu recognized him at once. Mune attempted an akward bow.

“This man is no assassin,” the shogun said, angry. “Do you people spend so little time in the fencing hall that you don’t recognize Yagyu Munefuyu, the son of my sword instructor, Yagyu Munenori?” The samurai bowed in apology, red-faced, and Iemitsu turned to Mune. “But why are you trying to push through my men like this? What has happened?”

“Your excellency!” Mune gasped. “Your excellency, Samon is here.”

The shogun blinked as if he had heard wrong. “What kind of cruel joke …?” he stammered, anger rising in his chest, making his face feel as if it were on fire. He broke his blade free from its sheath with his thumb, ready to draw it. “Explain yourself or I will cut you down in the street.”

“I’m not lying, your excellency!” Mune shouted, bowing. “I’ve lost him in the crowd when your men were pushing me. I swear to you, Samon is here, your excellency! I swear it!”

Iemitsu stepped close to Mune and said to him with quiet anger, “If you are lying to me, Yagyu Munefuyu, your entire household’s heads will be on spears at the castle gates, right down to your father, I promise you that.”

He straightened, glowering at the people in front of him who shrunk aside, bowing before their shogun, and Mune shouted, “SAMON!” when he spotted his brother laying, curled into himself, protecting his face with his arms, between he feet of the crowd.

He yanked his arm from the samurai’s grip and rushed forward, but Iemitsu beat him to Samon’s side. The crowd audibly gasped and whispered when they saw their shogun kneel in the dirt next to someone who, for all appearances, looked like one of the dirty ronin who were cluttering up the streets of Edo these days, but Iemitsu paid them no attention.

His fingers closed around Samon’s hands and pulled them gently from his face. He was scuffed up from people stepping on and tripping over him, his clothing was torn and dirty, and he had lost the silk strip covering his eyes, but he was alive. At the sound of Iemitsu’s voice, which gently said his name, so warm, so familiar, Samon sat up, slowly and painfully, and reached out his hand to his shogun. Surely, this was a dream. He was dead, trampled by the side of the road, and this was not reality.

Iemitsu cradled Samon’s face in his hands and leaned close, looking at the man he loved, the gentle curve of his lips, the angle of his jaw, the beautiful black hair that fell over his shoulders. He would have recognized Samon anywhere.

“They told me you had died, Samon,” Iemitsu said gently. He kissed Samon’s forehead, a little gesture full of so much love that Samon started to cry. “I will never let you go again,” the shogun promised, folding his lover into a warm embrace. “Never again.”

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[talesofedo]

This is a work of fiction. You can find more information about my blog 江戸物語 (Tales of Edo) and an index for this story’s chapters by clicking here.

…

Samon’s Story Inspired by Yagyuu Hijouken Samon (manga) / Also on AO3 CW: Jubei is being an asshole, horrible family, abusive behavior and language toward an individual with disabilities

Chapter 3 Homecoming

The old doctor and his young apprentice returned twice more to check on Samon and explain his progress to Jubei. The first time was after seven days and the second time after fourteen days, and both times the doctor pronounced himself satisfied with the progress his patient had made, although he remained puzzled that Samon’s behavior did not at all appear to be in line with what he expected of someone who, as the elder brother described it, had taken leave of his senses. In fact, Samon seemed to be a sensible young man who was working hard to learn his way around without sight and to manage the logistics of living without his tongue. The doctor found this difficult to reconcile with the behavior of someone who had supposedly gauged out his own eyes or cut his own tongue, though he did not dare voice his suspicions out loud in the presence of Jubei or those who might report back to him.

As the doctor had predicted, Samon’s years of training in the martial arts had given him an excellent sense of balance and superior use of his other senses, so that he was able to move around the familiar mansion nearly as well as any other person, provided no furniture was suddenly moved in his absence to catch him by surprise. Jubei, of course, thought moving things was great entertainment and he would occasionally place a writing desk in a different part of a room or a serving tray in the center of a hallway, just to watch his younger brother trip.

During his visit on the fourteenth day, the doctor gave his permission for the brothers to travel home to Edo and wished them both the best of luck. He gave Samon’s shoulder a warm squeeze and expressed his heartfelt wishes for his recovery and safe travels. Samon touched the doctor’s hand in thanks, mustering a small smile, but he fully expected the long journey with Jubei to be frustrating and miserable, as his brother was likely to go out of his way to embarrass and bully him, as he had done over the course of the past two weeks at home.

Early the next morning following the doctor’s last visit, just as the sun was beginning to rise and the day started to warm, Jubei picked for Samon a gray-blue under-kimono and a brown kimono. The clothing chosen was plain and devoid of any family crests, more suitable to a poor country samurai or ronin than the youngest son of the shogun’s most trusted advisor, but Jubei was similarly dressed modestly in black and dark green and it would keep their group from being readily identified as members of the Yagyu in their travels.

Once Samon was dressed, one of the mansion’s servants came into the room to arrange his hair, combing and oiling it, and tying it back into a simple ponytail using a blue silk cord. This was a style Samon had worn for many years, his black hair cascading to below his shoulders, even though he had long been of age to shave his head and wear chonmage like most samurai of his day. He had always preferred this style, however.

It was how Iemitsu loved his hair, he thought with misery unfurling in the center of his chest as he remembered how much his beloved had enjoyed threading his fingers through the silky stands draped over Samon’s bare shoulders or how he would lovingly arrange them when they lay together feeling the warmth of each other’s bodies. Samon shook the soft, happy memory from his head in frustration, again feeling only the overwhelming sadness he now associated with his return to Edo, spreading over his body like goosebumps.

As he had expected of Jubei, his brother was in rare form during their journey, going out of his way to make every stop at a wayside inn an exercise in embarrassment and humiliation, like the process of traveling the twelve days from the Yagyu valley to Edo was not already misery enough.

At their first stop, late in the afternoon of their initial day of travel, Jubei tripped Samon when he stepped from the palanquin, causing him to fall forward and crash into one of the benches placed in front of the establishment for weary travelers to rest and enjoy their hot tea or afternoon meal. It was an unlucky fall that caused Samon to smash his shoulder into the very corner of the platform, giving him an angry purple bruise that ached for days, and all he could do was count himself lucky he hadn’t broken his arm or split open his head instead.

At a different inn several days later, Samon and Jubei sat outside with hot cups of tea waiting for their attendants to carry the luggage to their rooms, when Jubei made sure to bump into Samon’s sore shoulder while pretending to draw the serving girl’s attention for a refill. This caused Samon, who was in the middle of trying to swallow, to choke and sputter as hot tea ran down both his throat and the front of his kimono in equal amounts. The serving girl withdrew to the back room for a cleaning rag and passers-by whispered among each other. Samon held the warm, smooth clay of the teacup tightly between his hands and pretended to be oblivious to the people who were talking about him and to his brother’s smug snicker.

They finally arrived at the Edo Yagyu estate in the early afternoon of the twelfth day and Munenori met them inside the gate when they arrived, ensuring that it was fully closed behind the group before allowing Samon to exit the palanquin.

He warmly greeted Jubei, thanking him for undertaking the long journey on this family matter, and immediately excused him when Jubei mentioned he would like to enjoy a hot bath and perhaps a trip to the pleasure quarters afterwards to recover from his travels. Munenori then wordlessly looked his youngest son up and down. Samon’s kimono, the one he had been wearing for the duration of the journey, was stained from food and drink thanks to Jubei’s bullying, and Munenori could only shake his head at the miserable appearance his son presented.

“Bring him inside,” he said harshly. “We will need to have a talk.”

One of the retainers roughly grabbed Samon by the arm and maneuvered him into the main house. The family’s Edo mansion, located in the samurai quarter below the shogun’s castle, was where Samon had grown up and where he had lived for most of his adult life before his father banished him to the Yagyu valley, but it felt like a foreign place to him now. When he had left three years ago, without a single voiced complaint because it would have been inappropriate and pointless to resist the patriarch’s orders, Samon could have never imagined he would return to Edo like this, to be a prisoner in the home he had once loved.

He allowed himself to be steered through the entrance and down the hall, turning left into what he remembered as the parlor where his father normally received and entertained guests. Ahead of him, he could hear the gentle rustle of his father’s kimono as Munenori folded it while seating himself on a cushion, and shortly thereafter, the man holding him stopped and pushed Samon downward to sit as well. Samon smoothed out his own kimono, tucked his feet beneath himself, brought his fingertips together on the gentle texture of the tatami and bowed his head in respect to his father.

They sat in silence briefly, Samon waiting for permission to move.

Eventually, Munenori said, “I am sorry that it had to come to this,” but his cold voice did not betray any feelings of regret. “You understand that I cannot permit your relationship with his excellency to jeopardize our clan and since he continues insisting …” He sighed. “I had no choice. I do regret sincerely that Jubei went … overboard… but this can no longer be changed now.” A long pause suggested Munenori was considering whether there was anything specific he needed to address, before he finally continued: “You will remain in this home. We will tell those who need to know that you are suffering from mental illness and did this to yourself, and we will ensure your comfort and well-being, provided you resign yourself and make no attempts to harm yourself or others. Do you understand.” It was not a question.

Samon bowed, his mind blank. What point was there in protesting?

“Your mother,” Munenori continued, “Is understandably distressed by the situation. She has engaged for you a carer named Kenichi who will be with you at all times, to ensure your safety and see to your needs.”

To ensure I won’t do anything stupid, Samon thought.

“For the time being, I believe it would be best for you not to see your mother.”

Munenori sent the attendant to fetch Kenichi and the pair returned a few moments later, Kenichi bowing to the old master from the back of the room before being beckoned forward to stand beside Samon.

He was in his early twenties, only slightly younger than Samon, but quite the opposite in appearance. Where Samon was of average height, pale-skinned and slender despite being well-muscled, Kenichi was tall with tan skin, muscular from doing hard work fishing alongside his father for most of his life. Although intimidating in outward appearance, he was also kind in spirit and even-tempered. Munenori had chosen him because he believed not only that Kenichi would be able to physically overpower Samon if his son tried to do anything stupid, but also because he knew the boy desperately needed the work to provide for his elderly mother after his father’s recent death and that he would therefore be compliant no matter what was requested of him, lest he should lose his pay and any prospects of finding other employment within the city or its surrounding provinces.

For his part, Kenichi had only been told that Yagyu Munenori’s youngest son had lost his mind and crippled himself, and that it would be his duty to care for the young master and ensure his safety once he returned to Edo. He had therefore assumed Samon would look or act like someone who had taken leave of his senses, though he was not entirely sure exactly what that meant. However, although the young samurai appeared disheveled in his dirty kimono and the stained bandage wrapped around his eyes, he was sitting politely before his father, hands placed on his thighs, just as properly as any samurai may have done before his elder.

Munenori turned his attention to Kenichi. “Kenichi, this is Samon.”

Kenichi immediately noted that his employer had not said this is my son, Yagyu Samon Tomonori, even though that would have been the expected polite introduction for the youngest of Munenori’s three sons, who had honorably served as sword instructor to the house of Tokugawa since he was a teenage boy, at least until he became ill and had been sent away from the city. He was unsure why Munenori’s choice of words felt so uncomfortable to him but made a note of it all the same.

When Kenichi moved to bow to show his respect to Samon after being introduced, Munenori held up a hand. “There is no need for formality. Take Samon to his rooms and get him cleaned up before his mother encounters him in this state.”

Taken aback, Kenichi bowed to the elder Yagyu and before he could reach out to grasp Samon by the arm as he had seen the other man do when they arrived in the courtyard, the other had stood up and reached out his right hand, finding Kenichi’s shoulder, as if to let him know I do not need you to manhandle me, I just need a guide. Kenichi threw a glance to Munenori to ensure that this was permitted and the elder Yagyu simply shrugged.

“Let us go, young master,” Kenichi said to Samon and started walking slowly from the room. Samon followed closely behind him, focused obviously on the way Kenichi moved so he would know when they came to a turn or a step or needed to avoid some obstacle along the way. They walked along the hallway and stepped down into the courtyard, and it was then that Samon realized he would be living in the guest cottage at the far back of the property rather than in the main house where he had grown up.

I suppose I should count myself lucky not to be locked up in the storehouse, he thought bitterly.

They turned the corner behind the main house and crossed a courtyard that was unfamiliar to Samon because it had been redone during his absence and now featured large, flat stepping stones of uneven sizes and shapes set into a bed of fine gravel, which made it difficult for him to find his footing and he stumbled several times catching the edge of his sandal on paving stones or stepping off into the gravel.

They soon reached the guest cottage and stepped onto the porch after taking off their sandals. As they came to the doorway of the main room, Samon stopped and Kenichi patiently waited.

“This is the guest cottage, young master,” he explained eventually. “It is where you will be staying in Edo.”

Samon nodded. He was unfamiliar with the guest cottage, having never spent much time within its rooms growing up, and he was wondering how he might best communicate to Kenichi that he needed to understand the layout in order to find his way around independently. Eventually, he tapped Kenichi’s shoulder to ensure the younger man was looking at him, and then pointed first toward his own eyes, then described a circle around the room with his hand, followed by a “talking” gesture. He hoped it would be enough for Kenichi to understand that he meant, describe the room.

“Sorry?” Kenichi seemed confused.

Samon repeated the three gestures.

“Do you wish for me to explain the layout, young master” Kenichi asked. “Mn.” Samon nodded. At least his family had chosen someone intelligent!

“We are standing on the front porch to the guest cottage, young master,” said Kenichi. “Directly in front of us lies the main room. It is rectangular in shape, wider than it is deep. To your right as you enter is a recess fitted with storage cabinets and on the same wall beside it is an alcove with a hanging scroll as its focus. On the far side, the one opposite us at the moment, are closets with sliding doors to store bedding and along the left side of the room are additional shoji that open onto to the porch, which wraps around the front and left side of the building. In the corner where the back wall and the shoji meet in the room stands a folding screen and behind it are stored the lamps for nighttime. To the right of this room is another, a smaller storeroom. Around the back of the building are the lavatory and bath, but there isn’t a kitchen. I will be bringing our food from the main house each day.”

Samon nodded. Kenichi had done a good job describing the layout of room and building, but he now needed to form a better picture of how big everything was and where it was located in relation to other parts of the room and building. He put his right hand out toward the open shoji, trying to find the frame, and immediately realized that it was much further than he had expected. He found himself stumble off balance and Kenichi instinctively stepped forward, reaching for his hand to steady him. Samon found that unlike the attendant’s rough grabbing and manhandling, he did not mind the kind and helpful way in which Kenichi reached out. He let the former fisherman take his hand and walk him around the room, explaining features as they went.

The storage cabinets in the recess to the right of the entrance turned out to be a lacquered dresser with carved metal hinges and corner fittings, painted with a design that felt ever so slightly bumpy under Samon’s fingers. He supposed it was a fashionable piece as might have been found in any of the upscale homes within the samurai quarter, serving both as a functional dresser and a handsome decoration. It had two large doors at the bottom, three smaller drawers in the tier above, and two compartments above those, which closed with sliding doors. Above it, mounted against the drop ceiling, was another cabinet for items that were not in regular use. Kenichi made sure to guide Samon’s hand to it so he could understand where and how it was positioned since it was at just the right height where he might hit his head if he were unaware.

They went on to the alcove containing the wall scroll which Kenichi described as having a single row of beautiful calligraphy. Samon pointed in what he figured was the direction of the scroll, top to bottom, and gestured “talking.” Read what it says?

Kenichi hesitated. “I am sorry, young master,” he apologized with obvious embarrassment straining his voice. “But I don’t know how to read.”

Of course, Samon realized at once. My father would have found someone to help me who cannot read or write so there is absolutely no possibility I might send a message to Iemitsu. He sighed and raised his hands in a gesture of apology, but Kenichi grasped them. “Please don’t apologize, young master. It’s not your fault I can’t read.”

They continued their tour of the room, Kenichi explaining the locations of various closets and cabinets, screens and lamps, and assorted other objects as they went, explaining where individual items might be found for use, and letting Samon carefully map out the dimensions of everything. As they were getting ready to move on to do the same for the rest of the building, Samon realized with a jolt that something was missing, something that should have been in the place of honor beneath the wall scroll: the stand with his two swords. He had understood why Jubei didn’t let him carry them on their journey, but certainly, he would not have left them behind in the Yagyu valley?

He pulled Kenichi over to that side of the room and pointed toward the bottom of the recess, then found himself at a loss of how he might be able to gesture “sword stand” in a way the other would be able to understand. Ah! Samon gestured to his waist as if his left hand were closing around the sheath and his right hand grasping the tsuka as if to draw the sword, a movement as familiar to him as parts of his own body. He pointed to the recess again and Kenichi understood that the question was Where are my swords?

“Young master, I am sorry,” he said regretfully. “I forgot. Master Yagyu said that he was concerned you might harm yourself and to tell you he would not be returning your swords.”

For the first time since hearing Jubei tell the doctor that they would be returning to Edo, the reality of the situation again threatened to overwhelm Samon. He had been angry and frustrated these past two weeks, but he had not yet fully grieved all that he lost at the hands of his own family. Now he found himself at a point where he could no longer continue to push his pain and grief to the lowest recesses of his soul where it had festered and become a large lump that threatened to choke him. His heart racing, he felt sheer despair raise in his throat and make his chin quiver. He gestured at Kenichi, pointing toward the shoji, and sliding his hands together. Close the doors! Close them! He unnecessarily repeated the sliding gesture twice more, even though Kenichi had already started shutting them.

As soon as Samon heard the last of the screens close, he allowed himself to sink to the floor, too exhausted with sheer misery to keep himself upright any longer. He curled into himself on the tatami, sobbing, covering his face with his hands, and wished the world would cease to exist.

Kenichi stood inside the door he had just shut and looked on with a mixture of bewilderment and embarrassment because he was wholly unsure of what to do. He supposed Munenori would have instructed him to either ignore the behavior completely or, more likely, to stop it because it was inappropriate for any samurai to act like this, illness be damned. However, it was not in Kenichi’s nature to ignore or chastise another person’s distress.

“Young master,” he said tentatively, his voice soft. He took a step forward initially but then stopped and stepped back again. “Can I help? Is there anything I can do to help?”

When the only answer to his question remained Samon’s sobbing, he stepped closer and eventually knelt next to the young samurai’s curled up form, reaching out a hand to gently touch the other’s shoulder to bring comfort if it was at all possible. The body beneath his fingertips was trembling and even to Kenichi, who had barely known Samon for more than an hour, it was heartbreaking. Had Samon been one of Kenichi’s own younger siblings – he had three sisters – he would have scooped him up and held him in his arms without a second thought. As it was, he remained with his hand on Samon’s shoulder for quite some time and, eventually, Samon’s breathing became slower and calmer and Kenichi realized that he had cried himself to sleep from sheer exhaustion.

He waited just a short while longer to ensure his getting up would not wake Samon, then went to the closet for a blanket with which to cover him. It was not yet late in the evening, but the sun had disappeared behind the horizon and the lamps had been lit in the main house. Yet Kenichi was reluctant to leave and fetch dinner from the kitchen lest Samon should wake while he was gone, alone in an unfamiliar place.

Instead, he moved the folding screen to divide the room and prepared his futon on the opposite side, mulling over the day’s events. Somehow, he was unable to shake the feeling that there was more to Samon’s story than what he had been told, and the nagging thought remained at the back of his mind that perhaps the young master’s family may have intentionally harmed him. Of course, one heard stories about samurai families doing horrible things to either safeguard their own power or support one lord over another, but he had always assumed these to be fanciful tales meant to entertain the masses with the strange behaviors and seedy doings of the elites. Now, he was no longer so sure they were just tales.

Not that Kenichi could complain, of course. He had gone from doing hard work as a fisherman, living in a ramshackle home by the beach with his parents and three older sisters (all of whom were now married and had families of their own), to sleeping in a room larger than their entire house had been, on a thick futon with a silk pillow and quilted blanket. And that was in addition to getting paid! All that was required of him in return was to help the young master throughout the day which did not seem like a difficult chore now that he had a better idea what to expect. The picture of Samon that had been painted by his father – that of a raving lunatic intent on harming himself or others – was not at all what he had been seeing thus far.

Thinking about the events of the day, Kenichi eventually drifted off to sleep as well.

…

Early the next morning while the world was still colorless in the rising dawn, Kenichi was woken from a particularly pleasant dream by a blood curdling scream that had him on his feet in seconds. He nearly knocked over the screen as he rushed around it to find Samon sitting up, legs tangled in his blanket, hands tearing at the bandages over his eyes.

Worry that he might hurt himself, Kenichi rushed over and grabbed Samon’s hands, pulling them away from his face. “Please, young master. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Samon flinched at his touch, panicked and seemingly not fully awake.

“Please, young master.” Kenichi repeated, holding Samon’s hands just firmly enough to stop him but not so roughly as to cause pain, and gradually, the other appeared to wake and remember his surroundings.

Eventually, Samon breathed out very slowly, the tension receding from his body, and Kenichi apologetically released his hands. Samon untangled himself from the blanket before gingerly reaching toward his face, and in the semi-darkness of early dawn Kenichi watched as Samon removed the bandages and gently touched his face, graceful fingers tracing dark eyebrows and hovering reluctantly over the long-lashed eyelids that covered the empty eye sockets he seemed afraid to touch. It was the first time Kenichi had seen Samon’s face without the bandage and while he wasn’t sure what he had expected, it might have looked as if Samon’s eyes were simply closed were it not for the way the eyelids lay flat over absent globes and the small droop of the lower lids that exposed a pink emptiness beneath. It was a very handsome face with angular features and gently sloping cheekbones, so different from the rough features of his older brother Jubei.

“Since we’re up,” Kenichi said to break the silence after a while, “Why don’t I go and heat up the bath. You never did get a chance to bathe last night after your long journey.”

“Mn.”

...

Language Notes

+ Chonmage - This is the traditional hairstyle people most commonly associate with the samurai today. The top of the head is shaved and the rest of the hair, which is fairly long, is tied in a topknot or, if shorter, tea-whisk style.

Getting there was normally a process - when a boy was 11 or 12 years old, he started wearing his hair in sumi-maegami where the top of his head was shaved but his forelock (bangs / fringe) remained. When he was about 17 or 18, that would be shaved and he started to wear chonmage. 

Fun fact: Chonmage wasn't limited to samurai. It was a popular hairstyle across classes, including merchants and artisans, during the Edo period.

< Back to Index | Previous | Next Chapter >

[talesofedo]

This is a work of fiction. You can find more information about my blog 江戸物語 (Tales of Edo) and an index for this story’s chapters by clicking here.

…

Samon’s Story Inspired by Yagyuu Hijouken Samon (manga) / Also on AO3 CW: No specific content warnings for this chapter Language notes are found at the bottom.

Chapter 2 Education

Samon sat in the center of the large bedroom at the back of the mansion, the tatami below him still wet with a mixture of rainwater, blood, and mud that had dripped off his body during the past hours, his long black hair draping limply across hunched shoulders. The rain had eventually stopped in the early hours of the morning and the sun was now slowly rising beyond the garden wall, heralded by the chirping of birds that were beginning to wake and the gradual warming of the new day.

Samon’s blood-stained clothes had mostly dried but he was still bound with the rope which continued to cut painfully into his neck and arms, and his hands had been completely numb for hours. The crust of dried blood smeared across his face had started itching obnoxiously, but since there was nothing he could do about it, Samon tried to focus only on his breathing to block out the pain and discomfort, wondering with trepidation what Jubei had in store for him next.

He knew that one of the two men who had helped Jubei the previous night was lingering on the porch still, keeping watch so that Samon would not find some way to either kill himself or escape, although Jubei had confidently assured him that his younger brother would attempt neither.

His presence additionally served to keep away the mansion’s servants who were now starting their morning chores. Just a short while earlier, Samon had heard two of them approach, their footsteps and chattering moving along the hall until this stranger had shooed them away. This was followed by hushed voices around the corner, complaining about the man’s rudeness, wondering when master Jubei might have arrived the previous night, and speculating about what had happened to the young master before it once again became quiet, save for the rustling of trees and chirping of birds in the garden.

…

Eventually, Samon heard other footsteps, this time coming from the front of the house, and these were accompanied by Jubei’s voice, loud in comparison to the whispers of the servants he had heard earlier.

“… is not well, doctor,” Samon heard Jubei say to the footsteps that accompanied him down the hall. They sounded as if they belonged to an older and heavier man who was walking slowly and were followed by a third set of feet, young and energetic, most likely an apprentice carrying the doctor’s equipment.

“I only just arrived from Edo last night,” Jubei explained as they came around the corner, “and found him in the garden dressed as if for his own funeral, having gauged out his eyes and cut out his tongue!”

A gasp from the apprentice.

“Luckily, my men were able to restrain him before he could do himself any more harm. Please, doctor, see to my brother’s wounds and let me know how soon he will be well enough to travel to Edo. I plan to take him home to the family estate so he may be in the care of our parents.”

Samon took in a sharp breath as the full cruelty of his father’s plan threatened to overwhelm him. He could grasp at some understanding of why it had not been enough to simply send him away to the Yagyu valley to be a virtual prisoner, but anything that followed? Why was blinding him not enough? Why did he have to be dragged back to Edo, a mere stone’s throw from the shogun’s castle, yet condemned to never again be in the presence of his lover or even able to catch a glimpse of him or exchange words? His breaths came fast and panicked when Jubei and the doctor and his apprentice entered the room.

Playing at being the concerned elder brother, Jubei gently touched Samon’s shoulder and leaned toward him, startling him out of his spiraling thoughts. “Brother, the doctor is here to see you,” he said in a soft voice so unlike him it sent shivers up Samon’s spine. Turning to the doctor, Jubei added, “Please let me know if there is anything you need. Tatsuo …” He must have pointed to the man on the porch. “… will fetch whatever is required.”

With this, Jubei excused himself and stepped out. Samon listened to his footsteps retreating toward the front of the house.

The doctor and his apprentice began their work, careful to explain to Samon what they were going to do next each step of the way since he could not see them. They began by loosening and removing the rope and the blood rushed back to Samon’s numb hands, followed by a painful sensation of pins and needles, and he rubbed and shook them in order to rid himself of that feeling while at the same time trying to take slow, deep breaths to calm himself and process the news about returning to Edo. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to run from the mansion and throw himself from the tallest cliff, so he would never even have to think about Edo again, but he knew it was hopeless. This. This was what family and fate had in store for him and there was no point protesting like an obstinate child, stomping his feet and wailing against the gods who controlled his world. He sighed, equal parts resignation and despair.

The doctor said, “Please bear with me, young master, I will be done shortly.” To Tatsuo he added, “Please see that the bath is heated, and a change of clothes is prepared.” After Tatsuo left, he added in a lower voice, “There is no reason that your clothes should not have been changed or your wounds should not have been seen to right away last night, young master! I am sorry that your brother chose not to wake me to tend to you at once.”

Just as the doctor was finishing his work by bandaging Samon’s eyes with a long strip of fabric to cover the empty sockets and allow them to heal, Jubei returned. Standing a short distance away so as to not interfere with the doctor’s work, he asked with the same concerned voice he’d used previously, “Tell me, doctor, how much will my brother be able to recover physically? What do we need to know to care for him? Will he be able to get around? Will the cook need to prepare special meals? How does a man without a tongue eat?” It was a lot of questions at once and to Samon’s surprise, Jubei seemed genuinely curious about some of them, which was bewildering because he clearly had not considered any of these things prior.

“Obviously, with his eyes gone, your brother will not recover any sight, master Jubei,” the doctor explained and it was clear from his voice that he had much experience breaking bad news to bereaved families, and a vast amount of patience to explain thoroughly and help them feel comfortable. “But he is a young man still and, I hear, quite skilled in the martial arts. In time, he will get around his Edo home just as well as any person who has his sight. There are many blind in the lower classes who have successful careers working as acupuncturists and masseurs and there’s no reason for a person without sight not to live quite independently. The loss of a tongue … well, there is a fair portion remaining at the base and the young master will re-learn to eat solid foods once the actual injury heals. He will figure out in no time how to use chopsticks to move food to his back molars for chewing, a task usually done with the tongue, and to place it at the back of the tongue for swallowing. Until it heals, of course, I recommend preparing warm broths that may easily be swallowed. Of concern may be appearances, especially if female members of your household are of a delicate nature. People need their tongues to swallow and having an abundance of saliva can sometimes present a problem with drooling. Though there is no reason the young master cannot keep a cloth at hand to wipe his face, of course.”

Samon’s hand inadvertently came to his mouth to wipe his lips even though he was not drooling. In fact, his mouth had felt completely dry ever since he heard Jubei mention they would soon be returning to Edo.

“What about his speech?” Jubei asked and the tone of concern in his voice appeared real this time rather than feigned.

Of course, he would be worried about that, Samon thought. Wouldn’t want your brother telling people that he’s not actually crazy and that his family’s done this to him!

He was startled when the doctor’s hand unexpectedly touched his shoulder in what was most likely meant to be a comforting gesture. The doctor apologized for startling him and continued: “It is, unfortunately, unlikely that your brother will regain intelligible speech, master Jubei,” he explained, and to Samon, “I am terribly sorry, young master,” accompanied by a squeeze of the shoulder. “People produce sounds with various parts of their mouth and throat. Some noises are made with the lips, like m, and some with the throat like h, but many do require the use of a tongue and cannot be reproduced without. It is therefore unlikely that your brother will be able to speak in a way that would be understandable.”

“I see,” said Jubei thoughtfully. “Thank you so much, doctor.”

Samon thought that he heard his brother smile as he spoke those last words. He’s gloating, the bastard, he said to himself, imagining a smirk on Jubei’s face not unlike the one with which he had mocked Samon the previous night.

“How soon do you think my brother may be well enough to travel? I do worry about breaking this terrible news to our parents, but I can’t help but feel it would be in Samon’s best interest for us to leave this mansion for the more familiar family home in Edo sooner rather than later.”

The doctor arose, helped to his feet by the apprentice who had just finished putting the equipment kit back together, and turned to Jubei. “I expect about fourteen days should be enough for the worst of it to heal. This will also give the young master some time to learn how to get around with help, and to manage the basics of eating and drinking. You will want him comfortable doing these things before taking the long journey, especially if you will be staying in inns along the way.”

...

Language Notes

+ Master / Young Master - Japanese uses honorifics appended to names to show relationships between individuals, for example "Yagyu-dono", which one might roughly translate as "Master Yagyu". Because these can be cumbersome in English and not all readers will be familiar with them, I opted to use master and young master throughout the text to give you the gist of polite speech without making it annoying to read. It also serves as a stand-in for wakasama, which does mean “young master” literally. < Back to Index | Previous | Next Chapter >

[talesofedo]

This is a work of fiction. You can find more information about my blog 江戸物語 (Tales of Edo) and an index for this story’s chapters by clicking here.

…

Samon’s Story Inspired by Yagyuu Hijouken Samon (manga) / Also on AO3 CW: No specific warnings for this chapter

Chapter 7 Rush

Early the next morning, Hana’s youngest sibling, her brother Goro, left for the fishing village on the outskirts of Edo to find Kenichi’s mother and pass along the message.

Samon spent the day nervously sitting outside the farmhouse, occasionally joined by a large black cat, impatiently waiting for any word from Edo. He was terrified that Jubei had found some way to harm Kenichi and that his message would never reach him.

…

What Samon did not know and could not know was that the previous night, once the palanquins could no longer be seen from the back gate of the Edo mansion, Kenichi had gathered the entirety of his courage and run around to the front of the main house to alert master Yagyu, hoping deeply that what was happening did not take place on his orders.

He had been surprised and glad to find Munenori unaware of Jubei’s doings and, additionally, showing actual concern about his youngest son since he knew Jubei’s temper only too well. For the first time, Kenichi had the impression that Munenori had perhaps less to do with the way Jubei had injured Samon than he originally assumed, and that the patriarch regretted whatever part he had played in it all.

Munenori had immediately dispatched an attendant on a fast horse to call Munefuyu back to Edo. He reasoned that if worst came to worst, Mune should be home with the rest of the family. He also sent a person to look for Jubei in Yoshiwara, but it was unlikely anyone would find him there and they would be forced to wait until whatever time he decided to return.

Not one to stand idly by, Kenichi in the meantime took a lantern and left in the direction the palanquins had taken, asking anyone he encountered along the way, samurai and servant alike, whether anyone had seen them. But, before long, he had to admit that this approach proved futile because of the vast amount of palanquin traffic that crossed Edo’s samurai quarters on any given night. He still tried for hours before eventually returning to the cottage, exhausted and well past the middle of the night, to find a few brief hours of sleep.

Jubei returned around mid-morning the next day, having spent a vast amount of money on food, drink, and women at one of the more expensive establishments in Yoshiawara. He seemed well rested, having had a good night’s sleep, and had left only after a large breakfast, taking his sweet time to make his way home. Naturally, he had expected some backlash from his father once it came out that Samon was missing and Jubei had been the last one seen with him, but he had not been overly worried. After all, this was only Samon, the third son who had fallen out of their father’s favor over his dalliances with the shogun, so why would anyone make a big fuss should he go missing?

He was not at all prepared for the veritable firestorm that awaited him when he walked through the gates that morning, but in light of it, he obstinately refused to tell Munenori anything at all, and instead began packing his things to leave Edo.

Not long after Jubei’s stormy departure early that afternoon, which involved an array of choice words from Munenori that nobody in the mansion had ever heard him shout aloud, let alone at one of his sons, two people arrived at the same time. At the front gate, a worried Munefuyu jumped from a horse that was lathered in sweat, its flanks heaving, and stormed inside, not even bothering to untie and take off his sandals. At the back gate, Kenichi’s eldest sister, carrying her child on her back, asked for her brother to relay a message that had been given to her by their mother.

On finding out that Samon as alive and well at a local farm, Kenichi heaved a sigh of relief, having already expected the worst. He thanked his sister and rushed around to the main house where he nearly collided with Mune, who was coming around the corner.

“Master Mune, you’re back!” Kenichi said, surprised. “I have the best news!”

Mune grabbed him by the shoulders, wide-eyed. “You know where Samon is?”

“Yes!” Kenichi almost shouted in excitement, pulling Munefuyu with him out the back gate and down the road. “I know where he’s waiting for us and how to get there.” He felt the need to explain how he came to know this information. “I only just found out. He sent word to my mother and she’s sent my sister to send word to me.” It was a round-about way but both Kenichi and Mune understood that Samon would not have sent anyone directly to the main house for fear that Jubei would either intercept the message and do harm to the people who helped him, or that his father would punish him for having identified himself to a stranger.

The two rushed through side streets, now well into the next part of town, and eventually out of the city, Mune keeping pace with Kenichi at a slow trot, despite having had no sleep the past night on account of his rushed ride back to Edo once the messenger had caught up with him at the inn. Luckily, he had chosen to stop at a shrine to pray for safe travels and enjoy a late lunch before retiring to a local inn, or he might have traveled a good deal further.

“I cannot believe Jubei,” Munefuyu gasped. “I was gone less than a day and this is the kind of stunt he pulls? If I weren’t so inferior to him with the sword, I would cut his head clean off his shoulders. Bastard. Who would do such a thing to their brother!”

“Jubei has left Edo,” Kenichi said. “You should have seen your father. I’ve never seen anyone blow up like that. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he started spitting fire.”

They jogged down a road on the outskirts of town that was lined with small shops and stalls, now going significantly slower than they had been when they first left the mansion, and much more out of breath. Before long, they turned into a country lane that was sparsely populated, with individual little farmsteads dotting the landscape between rice and vegetable fields and patches of woods.

“He brought him all the way out here? To Mukojima?” Munefuyu was aghast. “And left him? Does Jubei not realize how dangerous this area is? I’ve heard of many lost travelers getting murdered by bandits in these parts after misjudging whether they would make it to Edo before nightfall.” He stopped, out of breath now, needing to take a break. “What the hell is wrong with Jubei,” he gasped again.

Kenichi had no answers and he could only imagine what last night might have been like for Samon, lost in the middle of nowhere, left by his older brother. The mere idea made him shake with anger.

They walked on, more slowly now, and eventually Kenichi pointed to the thatched roof of a farmhouse that sat in the center of a group of fields. “It’s over there.”

There was a single ox in a small pen next to the house and an older woman was throwing feed to fat chickens that were crowding around her feet in the yard. In the field on the slope above the house, a group of young boys were playing what appeared to be an energetic game of samurai, liberally whacking at each other with their stick-swords. When they saw Munefuyu and Kenichi approach through the tall grass, the boys ran to meet them, pelting them with questions.

“Samurai-san, did you come to get that other samurai?” one of the boys asked, but his voice was nearly drowned out by the others, all hurling questions. To Mune: “Can I see your swords, o-samurai-san?” And: “Did you come from Edo, o-samurai-san?” To Kenichi: “Why don’t you have swords, mister? Are you his attendant?”

Kenichi held his hand up to silence the boys and said, “Go and tell them we’re here, what are you waiting for?”

The group of boys streaked away, yelling and shouting as they went.

It was in that same instant that Mune spotted his brother sitting in the sun on an overturned bucket outside of the farmhouse’s front door, and he broke into a dead run, flying down the hill and overtaking the boys at a speed that surprised even Kenichi, who was still utterly out of breath. Mune called his brother’s name and, just as Samon stood up in response, trying to gauge where the shout had come from, skidded to a halt and pulled him into a tight hug. “You’re alive! You’re alive!” Mune shouted, but his voice was cracking. “I’m so glad we’ve found you! Are you hurt? Are you alright?”

“Mm.”

“How in the world did you end up here?” Mune gasped, still holding his brother tight and, from the doorway, a teenage girl answered, “I found him.”

Samon freed himself from Mune’s embrace, reached for his hand, and traced onto his palm the character for flower, Hana. He pointed in the girl’s direction and wrote, Saved me from bandits. He smiled. It was almost true. Perhaps not from bandits directly but she had saved him all the same last night when he was lost and very nearly did get killed.

“You saved him from bandits?” Mune said out loud and Hana blushed, embarrassed.

“Not saved him-saved him,” she blundered. “But yes, kind of.”

She was wide-eyed as Munefuyu bowed before her. “I’m in your debt. Thank you so much for keeping my brother safe with you, miss Hana,” he said.

Samon tapped him on the shoulder and felt for his hand, writing into his palm once he had found it, Don’t forget to thank her parents.

< Back to Index | Previous | Next Chapter >

[talesofedo]

This is a work of fiction. You can find more information about my blog 江戸物語 (Tales of Edo) and an index for this story’s chapters by clicking here.

…

Samon’s Story Inspired by Yagyuu Hijouken Samon (manga) / Also on AO3 CW: Some sexual content in this chapter, but not graphic Language notes are found at the bottom.

Chapter 5 Tea House

Munefuyu had always been two things: a doting brother and a man of his word. Although he worried about their father’s reaction, specifically that he might find himself banned from seeing Samon altogether, he broached the subject of practice swords with Munenori within the week.

To everyone’s surprise, the Yagyu patriarch relented. Not only did he give Munefuyu permission to bring practice swords back to the cottage, he also suggested that he might enjoy taking his brother to a local temple or a tea house, provided they both agreed to follow a few ground rules or that privilege would cease immediately.

The rules Munenori laid out were as follows: they had to leave and arrive back at the mansion by palanquin so that nobody would see who they were; they would leave only from the back gate usually used for deliveries or by servants; they would wear no clothing that bore the Yagyu family crest and they would not identify themselves as members of the Yagyu clan. Most importantly, they were allowed only to spend time outside the samurai quarter, the further away the better. It obviously went without saying that the two of them better did not even think about coming within a city’s breadth of the shogun if they had any sense at all.

Munefuyu was excited to break this news to his brother who had expressed, time and again over the past week, his boredom at being locked up within the Edo mansion’s grounds with nothing to do, even though Kenichi had done his best prior to Mune’s arrival to find things for both of them to keep busy, and even though Mune’s own arrival had livened things up considerably.

When he found out they could leave the mansion, Samon immediately signed Where? and since this was a sign Mune had not yet learned – it was a steep learning curve, after all - Kenichi translated for him before excusing himself to step out and bring in the laundry since it was looking like it might rain later.

Munefuyu thought for a bit and said, “I know a really lovely little tea house just outside the city where we could have a nice evening. It isn’t fancy like those places in Yoshiwara, but I think you’ll like it a whole lot. I go there often while I’m in Edo.”

Samon signed drinking, one of the signs that Mune knew by now, and his brother laughed. “Yes, the drinking kind of tea house. With plenty of sake and lovely girls.”

Samon stiffened, thought for a minute, and pulled Mune over to the patch of sand where he wrote, Maybe not a good idea.

“Why?”

He sighed. My appearance will scare them.

“That is the most idiotic thing you’ve ever said,” Munefuyu said in exasperation, stressing “the most idiotic” in such a way that suggested he truly meant out of everything Samon had said in his entire life, it truly was the dumbest. “First of all, little brother, tea house girls are paid for their good company and they’ll be good company to anyone who has a happy little money pouch. And secondly, they are going to adore you. You could lose all your gorgeous long hair and girls would still adore you while not giving me even a second look. I’m the one who should be concerned about not having a good time when none of the girls will give me any attention tonight even though I’m the one paying.”

Fine. Samon wrote. But Kenichi comes also. He will love it.

Munefuyu stood up and turned around to see Kenichi coming around the corner with the laundry he had taken down from the drying poles. “Kenichi,” Mune called out. “It seems my brother has decided you’ll be joining us at the tea house tonight. If you want to, of course.”

Kenichi almost dropped the towels. “Sorry, what?”

Munefuyu rolled his eyes. “Dress up. Go out. Pretty girls.”

Samon couldn’t help but snicker at Kenichi’s reaction but he was excited not only that they were able to go out to spend a pleasant night away from the Yagyu mansion, but also that he could offer Kenichi something in return for the months of care and friendship he had given him. Sure, Kenichi was being paid for his work, but he had gone out of his way to be kind and helpful in their daily lives, gentle and understanding when Samon was frustrated or overwhelmed, and generally pleasant to be around. Samon was also well aware that a great deal of luck had given him Kenichi rather than someone who was, at best, cold and clinical in nature or, at worst, abusive and neglectful, and he wanted him to be aware that he did appreciate him.

Under significant protest, Kenichi eventually allowed the two brothers to dress him in the kimono and hakama of a samurai early that evening, insisting repeatedly that this was not at all appropriate and if master Yagyu were to find out, the three of them might likely find themselves with their heads on pikes. By the time he said, “Think of my poor old mother!” both Samon and Mune dissolved into laughter.

Mune assured him that he had nothing to worry about. Not only could he claim the brothers had forced him go, him being in their employ and all, but the place they were going was discrete and nobody would ask questions. In fact, even though he regularly patronized this specific establishment, they did not know he was Yagyu Munefuyu. As far as they were concerned, he was a country samurai named Shinzaemon who came from a small village near Nara.

How would grandfather feel about you using his name at whorehouses, Samon wrote and Mune wiped it away at once, saying, “You leave him out of this!” to more laughter from Samon.

Mune explained that, if they were to encounter other samurai at the tea house or anyone became suspicious of them, they would just need to convince them that they were a group of country bumpkins from the provinces who were in the big city for the first time, and they’d surely be left alone. To go along with their country samurai personas, Munefuyu made sure to select kimono and hakama that were relatively plain and of less expensive material and suggested that they should completely forgo wearing haori. He also explained to Kenichi that it was common for samurai to give fake names in the pleasure quarters and that it would arouse no suspicions.

That did leave one matter they had not yet discussed, which Samon brought up once they had gotten dressed: What about swords? Obviously, a proper samurai, even one from the deepest of provinces, would not be walking out on the town without his daisho.

But here, too, Munefuyu had already found a solution. In an age where poor ronin were flocking to Edo by the literal thousands in search of work that was scarce, many had been forced to sell their sword blades to make ends meet. It was therefore not at all unusual to see samurai walking down the road carrying what looked like proper daisho, except that the fine fittings held only bamboo blades. Since a bamboo blade would not be a danger to anyone, supposed Mune, there was no reason their father could possibly object and, besides, they weren’t going to tell him in the first place. Of course, he had already procured several.

“This is a bad plan,” Kenichi said while he watched Samon place the two swords in his obi, looking as content as he had ever seen him. “Let’s do it, then.”

Munefuyu clapped him on the shoulder. “Smart man.”

Night was already falling when they left the Yagyu estate and by the time they reached their destination on the outskirts of Edo, it was inky black with no moon visible through the heavy cover of clouds. Their destination was a two-story building that did not, at first glance, appear to be a pleasure establishment at all but a regular house in a shopping district. This struck Kenichi as weird and he could not help but ask Munefuyu about the unusual location.

He received a little wink in return. “That’s exactly why we’re here and not in Yoshiwara. Wait here for a minute, I’ll make sure they’ll prepare a nice room for us.” Mune disappeared into the building and Samon and Kenichi stood outside, listening to frogs peeping in a nearby canal and the gentle rustling of the flags along store entrances that were shuttered for the night.

“This is not good, not good,” Kenichi fretted. Samon patted his shoulder, feeling amused.

It wasn’t long before Munefuyu re-appeared outside and gave them a quick explanation: “I’ve selected the big room in the back for our party and you’ll love it. It opens to a porch that looks out over a little lake. It’s such a pretty little place and we’ll have a bit of a gentle breeze that will be most welcome once we start drinking.” He smiled. “I have told them that I’ve brought my two cousins from the country and want to show them a good time and I’m sure they’ll be happy to oblige. I’ve never yet had poor service at this establishment.” He rubbed Samon’s shoulder. “I’ve told them that you, my dear country cousin, were injured last year during the Shimabara rebellion, in that terrible ambush. The girls are going to eat it right up and they won’t be asking any questions. Ingenious, right?”

The group moved inside, checking their swords at the door, and headed to the back of the building where they found themselves, as Mune had promised, in a spacious room that opened to a small porch overlooking the lake. Before long, several girls joined them and brought with them bottles of sake and entertainment in the form of music, singing, dancing, and games.

Munefuyu, who knew all the girls by name, immediately felt at home since he visited often when he was in town, and the girls seemed genuinely happy to see him back after his long absence. They curiously asked him questions about his two handsome cousins and started pouring drinks for the group, Kenichi starting out rather stiff and nervous, but quickly joining the singing and dancing once a few cups of sake took effect.

Samon, on the other hand, was feeling overwhelmed. Although he had been excited to spend this time away from the mansion grounds and he’d never previously been one to spurn cups of sake or nights at the pleasure houses, he found that the strong aroma of expensive aloeswood incense that wafted across the room and the loud singing and shamisen playing left him feeling ill and disoriented, uncomfortable in the unfamiliar surroundings and the closeness of strangers bustling around. He gulped down his fourth cup of sake in hopes that it would help him relax, but he felt flushed and shaky, and the girl sitting next to him, rather too close and smelling too strongly of perfume, must have noticed also. After she’d poured him another cup which he also immediately downed, she asked quietly, “Would you like to join me in more private quarters?”

Mune, of course, had overheard this, and slapped Samon on the back with a big grin on his face. “Go and enjoy yourself, cousin!” he cheered with a wink before returning to the game of ken, the latest fad in drinking games to hit Edo that year, at which he was failing miserably.

The girl took Samon by the hand and he followed her reluctantly, carefully feeling his way along the wall and up the stairs of the unfamiliar building into what appeared to be a much smaller room on the second level. A gentle breeze suggested an open window on the far wall, and he could hear the tinkling of a small bell, perhaps hung in place of a windchime. This room, too, smelled of incense, but not nearly as strongly as the downstairs, and Samon found that it was much easier to breathe up here. The girl walked him across the center of the room and close to the window, then pulled him down to sit on what he assumed was a futon. She sat close to him, her perfumed scent heavy in the air, and handed him yet another cup of sake, which he drank more slowly this time. Her hand rested on his thigh, small and warm like a kitten.

“Your cousin says the three of you are from the Nara area,” the girl said. “It’s the first time he’s brought any guests with him you know. I was starting to think he doesn’t have any friends. Or cousins.” She had a sweet, girlish laugh, and Samon wondered how old she was and whether she was pretty.

She rubbed his thigh with her hand, a little more insistent now, all business through the small talk. “He says you were injured in the Shimabara rebellion.” She reached up to touch his cheek and he inadvertently flinched, not having expected her to reach up so suddenly. His hand came up and closed around hers. Her fingers were small, slender, and soft, especially compared to his own which were rough and calloused from sword training, though not as much anymore now.

“I’m sorry,” the girl apologized. “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head and gently caressed her hand with his own, enjoying the warmness of these little soft digits. She reached out her other hand and touched his face. This time he leaned into it and she gently traced his lips and jaw, then leaned forward to kiss him.

He pulled her toward him, hands wrapping around her waist, and lifted her onto his lap, holding her tight, smelling the fragrance of her hair, her skin. When he reached under her kimono and between her legs, he found she was already wet.

He laid back, carefully because he was unsure how far he was from the wall, and she sat atop him, leaning forward, her fingers threading underneath the layers of his kimono, softly and gently but experienced in touching all the right parts of a man’s body. She exposed his shoulder, fluttering a butterfly-soft kiss against his collarbone. Her hips shifted, grinding ever so slightly against his penis in a little gesture that had him erect immediately. She reached up, her small fingers threading through his long hair, which fell silky across his bare shoulder, and in an instant, a memory of Kunozan Tosho-gu shrine flashed before his eyes.

They had stopped for the night on their return trip to Edo after Iemitsu became the new shogun, and once Samon had assured himself that their entourage, the procession of spear-bearers and sign-bearers, horse grooms and samurai that accompanied the shogun on his travels, had been settled for the night, he had stopped to ensure all of Iemitsu’s needs had been seen to also. In that large room, with the rain cascading outside, the new shogun had said words Samon had never even dared hope hearing from his lips. I love you. I want only you. Iemitsu had untied the obi holding Samon’s under-kimono, unwrapping him like a present, gingerly exploring the pale, slender body with his hands as he went. He had pulled him close, breathing his scent, exploring his face with kisses. Samon’s hair had fallen loose across his shoulders, draping them in black silk and Iemitsu had wrapped the strands around his fingers, playing with them as he explored the tightness of his lover’s body.

Samon gasped, tears welling up in his eyes, and he pushed the girl away, harder than he had intended, but he could not bear continuing to hold her warm body when the one he actually loved was so far out of his reach. Pulling his kimono together with one hand, he sat up, bringing his other hand up in apology and hoped this would be sufficient to explain that he did not mean to push her aware so harshly. He heard by the rustling of her kimono that she was coming closer again, and she sat next to him, reaching for his hand. He pulled it away.

“It’s alright,” she said, her voice still sweet and warm as it had been before. “We don’t have to do anything at all if you don’t want to.” She reached for his hand again and this time, he did not pull back. She held it between her own. “We can stay here with the smell of incense and the warm night breeze, or we can go back downstairs and join your cousins. It is up to you.” After a short while, she added, “You should know, your cousin likes to spend the night and it’s unlikely that he will be ready to leave before morning. He usually stays for breakfast.”

Samon smiled. This was very much like Munefuyu and he had expected it, although he was unsure where that left him and Kenichi, though he hoped Kenichi was having the best time of his life downstairs.

Samon laid down, stretching out on the futon, and placed his head in the girl’s lap, which she took as an invitation to gently stroke his hair until he fell asleep.

...

Language Notes

+ Shinzaemon - The alias Munefuyu is using at his tea house is one of the names his grandfather, Yagyu Sekishusai Munetoshi, used in his youth. Sekishusai was Munenori's father, making him the boys' paternal grandfather, but he died in 1606 before any of Munenori's three sons were born. Sekishusai originally introduced his Shinkage-ryu sword style to the house of Tokugawa and was in large part responsible for Munenori becoming the shogun's teacher and advisor. However, he turned over the Yagyu Shinkage-ryu to his grandson, Yagyu Hyogonosuke Toshiyoshi, which eventually led to the split between the Edo and Owari branches of the family.

+ Ronin - Although people generally use the term samurai to refer to a member of the warrior class in feudal Japan, it more specifically refers only to those who were employed in the service of a daimyo. A samurai who was unemployed was a roshi or ronin, the latter being a more derogatory term. During the early Edo period, many fiefs were dissolved by the shogun, leaving daimyos without land and titles and without the means to continue employing their samurai, causing a mass of ronin to roam Japan. (A conservative estimate is that 1 in every 5 samurai ended up a ronin during the early Edo period!)

Because Tokugawa's laws initially forbade lords from hiring anyone who had been previously dismissed from service, most ronin had no options and flocked to major cities like Edo or Kyoto in search of whatever work they could find. While some started teaching swordsmanship, the majority took odd jobs, from teaching children to read and write to doing manual labor, just to make enough money to eat. A whole lot of ronin starved to death during periods of famine, too.

Ronin in Edo were generally regarded as an embarrassment by samurai and as a danger by the general population, as they sometimes resorted to petty crime to survive, and were subject of scorn and humiliation. There are a couple of spots in the story where our samurai are looking down on ronin, which would have been very much in keeping with their times.

+ Shimabara Rebellion - See Wiki https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shimabara_Rebellion

+ Ken - Ken games are hand-gesture games that made their way into Japan from China in the early 1600s and quickly became really popular as drinking games to play in the pleasure quarters. It's basically the Edo period equivalent of playing rock-paper-scissors, except with drinking. Or sex, if you played it at the brothel.

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[talesofedo]

This is a work of fiction. You can find more information about my blog 江戸物語 (Tales of Edo) and an index for this story’s chapters by clicking here.

…

Samon’s Story Inspired by Yagyuu Hijouken Samon (manga) / Also on AO3 CW: No particular chapter warnings

Chapter 4 Life

In the first few weeks that followed his miserable return to Edo, Samon often found himself laying wide awake at night, either because he was unable to fall asleep or because he had woken early in the morning before Kenichi was awake, because some dream he couldn’t remember had jolted him awake, leaving his heart hammering rabbit-fast in his chest and a puddle of cold sweat drenching his futon and blanket.

Those long, quiet nights left him frustrated and angry, his thoughts inevitably spiraling around the Why’s and the What-Next’s of his situation like moths circling a candle. Why had his father not just been content keeping him in exile? Why did he need to bring him back to Edo? Would Jubei come by just to torment him as he had tormented him on the journey home? Would father think of some other way to punish him? Why hadn’t mother visited? Would they decide to take away Kenichi and replace him with someone else, someone less kind and gentle and understanding?

Without fail, these thoughts brought a rising sense of panic, a dark sticky feeling that spread out in the pit of his stomach and threatened to bubble up and swallow him whole, and inevitably, he would be scrambling for some way to feel out reality, to return himself to the guest cottage with the fancy lacquered dresser and the alcove with the wall scroll, both of which were at once concrete because he had felt them, but also abstract because he could not picture them. In these moments, he found that he could rub his fingertips across the texture of the tatami and this might do the trick, the repetitive motion helping him to calm his breathing and slow his heart rate, ever so gradually pushing the dark thing within him into a manageable size and stowing it away in some deep recess until the next time. Sometimes, this was not enough. Sometimes, he needed to get away from the cold sweat plastering his yukata to his back, to physically move from the darkness. Getting up and moving around usually helped. The polished wooden boards of the porch or the smooth texture of the paving stones in the yard, cold underneath his feet at nighttime, helped when the movement alone did not.

And sometimes, perhaps more often than he could bear to admit, Kenichi would be the one to draw him back from the panic, grounding him with the steady strength of his presence even if he said nothing beyond the quiet How can I help he voiced to let Samon know he was up.

The very first time this happened, Samon had been in utter panic, breathing quickly and pacing in small circles in the courtyard, and Kenichi’s sudden voice had startled him half out of his skin, causing him to freeze in place, taking shallow breaths, and trying to both place the voice and understand where he was and what he was doing. Eventually, calm footsteps had approached, and a hand gradually closed around his own. Not to restrain him or pull him back to the room, but in a soothing way that let him know Kenichi would be right there with him until Samon could slow his breathing and think straight.

They had sat in awkward silence on the porch for a while afterwards, Samon being both embarrassed that Kenichi had seen him like this and sorry that he had woken him from what he presumed must have been a restful night’s sleep before it was interrupted. The next thing he remembered was waking up, still on the porch but with his head in Kenichi’s lap. He had sat up, flustered, unsure whether it was still dark out or already the middle of the day, and had frantically gestured his apologies to a bemused Kenichi who responded, “There is nothing to apologize for, young master, you were exhausted.”

With each passing day, Samon became more thankful to his mother for selecting Kenichi out of anyone she might have hired. If this had to be how things were, he could not imagine anyone he would rather have around. Kenichi was naturally talkative and did not mind keeping a one-sided conversation going throughout their days, providing a visual image of the goings-on around them for Samon. Kenichi talked about the flowers that had begun to bloom in the garden and commented on the little white cat, stretched out to sun itself on the bit of wall surrounding the Yagyu property that he could see from their cottage. He talked about how good their food looked and how the matte white glaze on the new tea bowls was the latest trend in Edo. And Samon was content to listen to him narrate the things he could not see.

Within the first few weeks of living together, Samon and Kenichi worked out minor changes in their surroundings to make life in the cottage safer and allow Samon to get around independently throughout the day. The stepping stone used to step from the porch into the courtyard was a first obstacle, being located in the center of the porch with no nearby landmarks to feel for, and eventually Kenichi suggested they should move it so it lined up with one of the pillars supporting the porch.

At the same time, following the idea behind the rudimentary gestures Samon had used to ask Kenichi to describe the cottage the first night, they also began working out a series of signs that allowed him to communicate, starting with basics such as yes, no, and please, as well as those required to ask for everyday needs such as being thirsty or hungry, tired, or having to use the bathroom. This soon expanded to a larger repertoire that included gestures for explain or tell me what is happening, show me (meaning guide my hand to it or place it in my hand), what are you doing, and can I help, as well as ways of expressing more abstract concepts such as I am frustrated.

In the third week, Samon made use of his sign language by having his first argument with Kenichi. Frustrated with his ongoing nightmares and overall lack of restful sleep, he was refusing to get dressed in a fresh under-kimono and kimono in the morning. He signed “no kimono” (their sign for kimono being the palm of the hand dragged across the fabric to indicate the smooth silk of the kimono) and followed it up by asking for a yukata instead (the sign for yukata being rubbing fabric between the fingertips to indicate the coarser feel of ramie). When Kenichi pointed out that it was not appropriate for the young master of a samurai house to wear yukata all day instead of being appropriately dressed, Samon vented his frustration by signing that it was just the two of them (pointing between them) in the cottage (drawing a rectangle with his fingers to indicate the shape of the room) so why did it matter (spreading his hands in a shrug) and Kenichi eventually relented, “Fine, yukata it is. But if you get us both in trouble, young master, who will be the one to explain to your father that you don’t see the point in being properly dressed?” Samon retorted Me by pointing to himself and you’ll translate by pointing to Kenichi and making the gesture for explain, which was opening and closing the fingers of his right hand to indicate talking, and they both ended up laughing.

Overall, the two settled into a daily routine and found that they got on quite well. As the days wore on, Samon found that keeping busy with simple house chores was helpful, although Kenichi originally refused his help. “It’s not right for the young master of a samurai house to do household chores,” he protested when Samon aired out and put away their futons in the morning, or when he came to help wash and hang the laundry. However, Kenichi soon realized that Samon, firstly, was not going to give him any other choice and, more importantly, was desperate for something, anything, to stave off boredom.

Having grown up in the Yagyu household, one of the more important samurai houses in Edo, a huge portion of Samon’s life from the time he was old enough to hold a wooden practice sword, had been spent in the fencing hall: first learning and practicing the sword himself and, as he grew older, teaching it. His daily routine would see him in the dojo for hours in the morning each day and perhaps again later in the afternoon if he had no other plans. When he wasn’t training, he pursued the things other young men his age enjoyed – he hunted with his friends, went to local festivals and set out for picnics when the cherry blossoms bloomed, visited shrines and temples on the holidays, traveled to the Yagyu valley to visit his relatives and, once he got older, spent time in the pleasure quarters. He also immensely enjoyed both books and theater and had attended many a play and read everything from military strategy to indulgent volumes of poetry. Being stuck in the small cottage and back courtyard of the family’s Edo mansion therefore did not sit well with Samon and it was not long before he found himself bored with a lack of things to do, no visitors stopping by, and no places to go.

He was sitting on the porch one afternoon listening to the birds chirp in the yard and petting the little white cat that had recently started not only sunning itself on the wall but also visiting with them at the cottage, helped along by the dried fish Kenichi kept for it in a lidded bowl atop the dresser.

Kenichi walked up the porch and sat down nearby, whistling a little tune as he set to mending a small tear in his kimono. Samon let himself fall back, putting his arms beneath his head, and heaved an extended sigh. He was bored out of his mind. They didn’t have an established sign for bored and it was times like these that their sign language, no matter how extensive it was getting and how helpful it had become throughout the course of their days, still failed.

Samon took a deep breath and tried, “Taikutsu desu!” (I’m bored!) into the quiet of the afternoon. He immediately cringed because it sounded very little like taikutsu desu to his own ears since he couldn’t manage the t or d sounds, although surprisingly the k came easily, but it must have been clear enough because Kenichi responded, “I’m sorry, there’s just nothing to do today,” followed immediately by “OW!” when he stabbed himself with the sewing needle on realizing that he’d just heard Samon speak.

Kenichi stared. “You can speak?” he blurted out, immediately regretting how impolite that sounded. He had obviously been aware that Samon wasn’t mute because he’d heard him scream from his nightmares and he also did use sounds for both yes (mn) and no (iie) most of the time, but this was the first time he’d heard him say a sentence.

Samon smiled. “Mm,” he nodded. He wished that he could explain to Kenichi that while he could speak, he generally didn’t try because there were so many letters he couldn’t sound in a way that was intelligible, which made it an exercise in futility, save for some select words. That, and when he had originally tried his voice back in the Yagyu valley to see which words he could still sound out and to what extent, Jubei had stopped him. “You sound retarded,” he had said. “If you don’t stop making those noises, I’m going to beat you so bad you won’t make another sound until we reach Edo.” Samon knew that whenever Jubei threatened violence, it was no empty threat, and he had not tried again until after they had reached Edo. Even now, he was wary of attempting it, but there were some things he could not communicate otherwise and there was one thing specifically he had been wanting to tell Kenichi for weeks. He wanted him to stop saying young master and instead call him by his name. But the problem with this was two-fold: although they had a sign for talking or explaining, they did not have one for “calling”, and he couldn’t sound out his own name because he was unable to make the s or n sounds. He was going to try anyway. He signed, please, pointed at Kenichi and made their talking gesture, which could mean talking or explaining, and then pointed at himself and slowly tried to sound out his name as best as he could. He didn’t think that was very clear since it just sounded like amo, so he pointed to his lips and slowly mouthed his name, this time without sound.

Kenichi was quiet for a second, then he said, “I’m sorry, young master, I don’t think I understood what you meant.”

Samon shook his head, frustrated. Not young master. He pointed to himself again and mouthed his name again, then tried sounding it out once more. If only I could just write it down for him, he thought. How much easier that would be.

Kenichi still hesitated and then, eventually, he said. “You want me to call you Samon?”

“Mn!”

“Your given name? With no honorific?” He sounded uncomfortable with the idea. “Young master, that’s not proper. What would master Yagyu say if he heard me call you Samon?”

Samon shrugged. Who cares what my father would say? He would have to come all the way out here, to the back of the property, to even lay eyes on me before he can have an opinion about what you call me. And, he thought, my father would probably have some feelings about seeing me do the laundry and scrub the floors, too. He signed, It’s just you and me here. Please.

Samon felt Kenichi stiffen next to him, which seemed weird. His first absurd thought was that Munenori had somehow materialized from thin air to overhear their conversation. He reached for Kenichi to make sure he had his attention and signed, Explain what’s happening!

“There’s a samurai standing at the far end of the garden,” Kenichi said. “What should I do? Should I go meet him and ask what he needs? Should we go inside?”

Samon pointed to the end of the garden and signed Describe him?

Kenichi described the samurai as about Samon’s own age and height, wearing a haori bearing the Yagyu family crest over his kimono and his hair in chonmage.

Before he could continue, Samon had stepped off the porch and was rushing toward the stranger with surprising speed, and Kenichi worried that he would trip himself on the uneven paving stones before making it to the end of the garden. The other samurai must have thought the same because he swiftly stepped forward, caught Samon’s outstretched hands in his own, and pulled him into a tight hug. He was Munefuyu, Samon’s older brother by eleven months, and the one he had always been closest to as a boy.

“Please forgive me, Samon,” Munefuyu said, holding his brother close. “I’ve failed you. I should have known what would happen when the shogun bestowed that stipend on you, how father would react. I should have warned you. I am so, so sorry. I didn’t…” Tears soaked the shoulder of Samon’s yukata. “I didn’t know this is what he would do. I am so sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Ah!” Samon disentangled himself from his brother’s hug, grabbed the sleeve of his kimono, and pulled Munefuyu back to the cottage with him. Just in front of the porch, to the side of the footpath made of the uneven stones, the surface of the yard was a fine sand, and Samon squatted down, pulling his brother’s sleeve to get him to squat also. Using his finger, he wrote, Not your fault! And then, Can you read my writing?

Munefuyu wiped his tears. “I mean, it’s your handwriting still, but yes.”

Samon laughed and it was the first time Kenichi had heard this type of carefree laugh from him in the months they had been together. It was obvious that the two brothers were close and had a long history of good-naturedly picking on one another, which had not stopped despite having been separated for years.

Samon wiped his writing with his palm, hoping that he got it all, and wrote in the same space, Tell Kenichi to stop calling me young master. And introduce yourself. He pointed toward the porch where, he assumed, Kenichi was still sitting, having not heard him move away.

Munefuyu stood up, turned, and gave a small bow to Kenichi. He said formally, “I am Yagyu Munefuyu. It’s nice to meet you.” He then added, “I’m Samon’s older brother.” Samon tapped his leg impatiently. “And my brother wants me to tell you to stop calling him young master.”

Kenichi flushed and bowed. “It’s very nice to meet you, master Yagyu. My name is Kenichi.” And before he could stop himself, he added, “And I’ve already told him that it’s not proper for me to just call him Samon!”

Samon made an exasperated noise behind him and Munefuyu couldn’t help but chuckle to himself since this was obviously a conversation that the two of them previously had. He could see why Samon didn’t want to be called young master all the time, especially since it was just the two of them and they were close to the same age, differences in rank aside.

“Don’t pull me into your arguments,” he said to his brother. “That’s something the two of you need to work out.”

Samon wrote, Not enough words. Then he wiped it and added, He doesn’t read.

“Oh.” Munefuyu understood. Naturally, their father would not have hired someone who could read and write lest Samon talked him into passing notes to Iemitsu. The rest of the household, he supposed, had been instructed to keep away from the two and leave them to their own devices. He cracked his knuckles in anger. “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it for both Samon and Kenichi, frustrated with the fact that his own father would have left his brother with such limited means of communication just so he could not reach Iemitsu. “It’s not right.”

Samon shrugged and wrote, Are you staying a while?

“Yes.” He squatted down and slung an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “And you write me down everything you want or need and if it is at all within my power, I’ll see to it that you get it. Alright?”

“Mm.” Samon thought for a minute, then wrote in his untidy handwriting which was not at all improved by the fact that he could not see the letters he wrote: Give Kenichi a day off to see his mother. She is old and his father has passed. He’s not had a day off since coming here. He wiped the text and continued: Ask father for practice swords? I miss my fencing.

Munefuyu sighed. “He might not like that idea.”

Samon wrote, Please try.

“Of course. It’s just … don’t get your hopes up?”

“Mn.” Samon didn’t have high hopes that his request would be granted, but now that he had a way to communicate it, he at least needed to try.

It’s boring being locked up here, he wrote, and he could almost feel his brother’s anger next to him. He wiped the text again. Will you stay here with me while you’re in Edo?

Munefuyu chuckled. “Do you have room for me? More importantly, do you still snore?”

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[talesofedo]

This is a work of fiction. You can find more information about my blog 江戸物語 (Tales of Edo) and an index for this story’s chapters by clicking here.

…

Samon’s Story Inspired by Yagyuu Hijouken Samon (manga) / Also on AO3 CW: Really messed up family, abuse, graphic violence Language notes are found at the bottom.

Chapter 1 Moon reflected in Blood

It was already well past midnight, the bright full moon hanging large and white in an inky sky above, casting deep shadows across the formal garden of the samurai mansion below. Gathering storm clouds raced across the blackness, pushed onward by the strong winds that had gusted since late in the afternoon, and which tore at the leaves of the maple trees lining the garden walls, scattering them like embers sparking from a fire.

Yagyu Samon Tomonori sat cross-legged in the center of the porch facing the garden, far enough back that he remained shielded by the overhanging roof from the thick, heavy droplets of rain that had begun falling just then, a quick patter on the clay roof tiles. He was dressed in shinishozuku, the white kimono and hakama associated with burial rites and ritual suicide, and the brightness of his clothing contrasted starkly with the polished dark wood of the veranda as if it were a reflection of the moon and sky above. His eyes were focused on the trees swaying in the distance, at once both watching them and not perceiving them at all, worried that if he allowed his mind to dwell on what was surely coming to pass soon, he would not be able to hold himself together.

Early the previous morning, a messenger had arrived from a trusted acquaintance in Edo, bringing word that his eldest brother, Yagyu Jubei Mitsutoshi, had been sent by their father to meet Samon in his exile in Iga province. The news had not been a surprise. In fact, Samon had expected that something would happen as soon as the shogun had tried to arrange his return to Edo by gifting him a large stipend and the title of daimyo. It had been a well-meaning gesture, an attempt to reunite the two lovers once more, but it also completely ignored the political realities of Iemitsu’s position as shogun at a time when so many of the lords favored his younger brother, Tadanaga, and were waiting for anything that might give them pretext to stage a coup.

Samon took a long, slow breath in, held it to a count of five, and breathed out just as slowly, but the churning unsettled feeling remained in the pit of his stomach and his palms felt sweaty against the weave of his hakama. Now that exile was no longer the solution, the only reason his father would send Jubei all the way to Iga was with orders to kill him. Samon would have liked to think that Munenori saw him as more than a go piece to be maneuvered as part of some greater strategy, but he also knew it was like wishing to hold a wisp of smoke in his palm.

The rain was sheeting down by the time Jubei arrived, clad in black and green, and climbing over the back wall into the garden like a common thief rather than a close blood relative, daito already in his hand. When he spotted Samon waiting, he straightened and began walking casually toward his brother along the stone path snaking through the landscaping, unbothered by the water dripping from his face and soaking his clothes. He appeared neither surprised nor dismayed to find his youngest brother ready to meet him. He had mostly expected it.

“I’ve always looked forward to a chance at dueling you,” Jubei said against the rain, a small smirk playing around his lips, but his gaze remained cold. “They say you might be a stronger swordsman than I, and we’ve never yet had a chance to measure against one another in the dojo, let alone with real swords.”

“Then let us duel before the rest of the house wakes,” Samon responded, surprised to hear the calm in his own voice which did not betray a hint of the disquiet he felt. He was already unfolding his legs and reaching for his own long sword, doubly aware now of the sweat slicking his palms, but when his hand closed around the well-worn silk wrap of its handle, he found it unmovable because one of his own retainers, a man named Genjiro, had placed his foot on the sword’s sheath from behind. With all the noise of the rain drumming on the tiled roof above and his focus solely on Jubei, Samon had never even heard him approach. He turned, but even as he opened his mouth to order Genjiro to step back and release his sword at once, a coarse rope was slung around his neck.

Instinctively, Samon brought his hands up to keep from being strangled, but he was kicked hard between the shoulders and fell forward, face first onto the porch. He caught himself with his hands and tried to push up, but this gave the other man enough room to pull the loose ends of rope around Samon’s arms above the elbows, in seconds completely immobilizing him with a cloverleaf of rope that neatly connected neck, arms, and hands. Whoever this man was, he was clearly an expert hojojutsu practitioner and Samon knew there was no point in struggling – he was utterly defenseless before his brother’s sword.

“What is the meaning of this, Jubei?” he gasped, angry, the rope pressing against his throat. The two men pulled Samon to his feet, pushing him between them down the steps into the garden where they forced him onto his knees in front of his brother, the heavy rain drenching them all to the bone in minutes.

“Why go to such lengths? I know you don’t believe me to be the stronger swordsman, or that you need to resort to dirty tricks like these to kill me!” Samon shouted. “Won’t you at least give me the dignity of dying in a fair fight instead of being executed like a criminal?”

Jubei shrugged, sheathing his sword. “Don’t be so dramatic, little brother.” He rubbed his own temples in exasperation. “I’m not here to kill you, so there’s no need to have a duel.”

Samon blinked the rain from his eyes and looked up at Jubei, searching his face for answers in confusion. Knowing nothing but a lifetime of service to both his shogun and his own clan, he had resigned himself to his fate and he had waited for Jubei to come kill him. He would have even been glad to meet his death if it meant that Iemitsu would remain safe, protected by the Yagyu’s sword, but he was entirely unprepared for whatever was happening now.

“If you are not here to kill me … then why?”

The rain had started to let up and Jubei smoothed back some of the soggy strands of hair that clung to his own face. “Father needs me to ensure that you are no threat to our family due to your … involvement … with our shogun. Therefore, he has sent me to ensure you will never see Iemitsu again, stipend and title be damned. I suppose he’s decided to keep you in reserve rather than killing you, perhaps in case neither myself nor Mune produce an heir to the Edo branch.”

From the derisive tone of Jubei’s voice, tinged with an underlying anger that was so characteristic of his brother, Samon realized not only that Jubei disagreed with their father’s course of action but also that he had truly hoped for a duel. This did not bode well. Jubei had a terrible temper – always had, even when they were children – and a streak of pettiness that came to light when he did not get his way.

“So here I am,” Jubei continued, spreading his hands in a gesture that was half drama, half shrug. “An errand boy sent to do father’s bidding, sneaking around the family home like a thief in the night. I sure do hope the sex was worth all this, Samon.” He produced a tanto from within his belt and, with a sadistic smirk that exposed small pointy canine teeth, he leaned close to his brother’s face. “It’s not death, sorry, but I can promise that it will hurt quite a lot.”

The two men working for Jubei grasped Samon by the shoulders and pushed him flat onto his back in the dirt, his tied arms trapped awkwardly beneath him. Jubei straddled his brother’s body, kneeling on either side of his ribcage, and leaned forward. Samon lay still and quiet, knowing there was no point in struggling and having resigned himself to whatever was going to happen next. As the youngest of the three Yagyu brothers in Edo, his entire life had been one of shutting up and doing as he was told, whether these orders came from his father or his elder brother, his teachers or the shogun. If the shogun wished a duel, Samon would offer no resistance. If his father wanted to use him as a pawn in some political scheme, he would be who he was instructed to be. This was his purpose. He had once explained to Iemitsu, before they had formed a relationship that went beyond shogun and sword instructor, that he did not fear death because he was already a corpse. After all, the dead do not worry about being cut down.

Jubei studied his face closely. “Get a good look at me then, little brother,” he said, his eyes searching Samon’s which looked at him calmly through long lashes. “I will be the last person you will ever see.” With a flash of steel caught briefly by the moon’s brightness, Jubei flipped the tanto in his right hand and, grasping hold of Samon’s chin with his left, gauged out his brother’s eyes with a swift movement not unlike shucking an oyster.

“What a shame,” Jubei said in a mocking tone when it was done. He turned the glistening eyeballs in his hand, studying the lifeless dark brown irises, pupils gaping black in their centers. Small bits of optical nerve still attached to the back flopped limply like dead fish. He eventually cast them into the bushes with a wide swing of his arm and wiped his bloody hands on his dark hakama.

Samon’s handsome face was drenched in blood, the front of his white kimono stained as if by red ink dropped into water, but he remained silent even now, gritting his teeth so hard he feared they might break under the strain, but his body was shaking from the pain.

Annoyed at his brother’s stoicism in the face of such torture, Jubei said, “Iemitsu was always so attracted to your dark eyes and those long pretty lashes. I suppose you were always rather pretty, like a little sister.” He ran his fingers along his brother’s jawline as if appraising his facial features. “Do you think he’d still find you attractive now, our shogun? He will probably need to find himself a new wakashu now. Of course, being the shogun, he can build himself a whole harem of pretty young kagema to suit every one of his fancies.”

Hearing his brother mock Iemitsu, Samon was gripped by sheer rage and kicked upwards with his knees, catching Jubei off guard and toppling him forward, but with the two attendants quickly reaching in and the rope tightening around his neck as he struggled, there was not much else he could do. He kicked his legs pointlessly. “Don’t you dare insult the shogun,” he spit in anger. “Do as you want with me, but I will not hear you insult his excellency!”

Jubei pushed himself back to sit on his brother’s chest, making sure to place his full weight on him this time. “You won’t hear it, huh,” he mocked. “I’m not so sure you’re in any position to make demands.” He grasped Samon’s chin and forced his rough fingers into his brother’s mouth. “Don’t even think about biting me if you know what’s good for you,” he warned, pushing Samon’s lower jaw down and forcing his tongue out, pinching it between his fingers. “You know, I don’t think you will ever tell me what to do again, actually. If I were you, I would hold nice and still now so I can make a straight cut. If you decide to fight me again … well, maybe I’ll just rip your tongue out. Your choice.” He flicked the tanto forward again and sliced through Samon’s tongue, severing it just forward of its base. He threw the tongue into the yard and pushed himself to his feet.

“Get him up before he chokes on all of that blood, and make sure you call the doctor.”

...

Language Notes

+ Daito - The daito is the samurai's long sword and the term applies to any sword with a blade longer than 2 shaku (roughly 2 feet or 60 centimeters). In this time period, only members of the warrior class were permitted to carry a set of swords, or daisho (literally meaning "long and short"), which consisted of a long sword (daito) and a short sword (shoto).

+ Hojojutsu - Hojojutsu is a martial art that uses a rope, specifically for the use of restraining a person. This was a common skill for both samurai and (later on) for policemen, but, like any martial art, required a significant amount of practice to truly master. The specific technique used in this instance is an adaptation of the hishinawa (rope diamond). Fun fact: the sageo (the cord on the sheath of a samurai's sword) can be used for this purpose if no other rope is available.

+ Wakashu - Although this literally means "young person", it specifically refers to adolescent boys. In this context, Jubei is both taunting his brother (who is 26) and also telling him there are plenty of pretty young things like him for the shogun to enjoy instead.

+ Kagema - A young male prostitute.

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[talesofedo]

This is a work of fiction. You can find more information about my blog 江戸物語 (Tales of Edo) and an index for this story’s chapters by clicking here.

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Samon’s Story Inspired by Yagyuu Hijouken Samon (manga) / Also on AO3 CW: Really messed up family, physical & psychological abuse

Prologue / Background

If you prefer, you can skip straight to the first chapter. The information below just provides some background about the characters and their circumstances.

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Tokugawa Iemitsu is the rightful heir to the shogunate following the death of his father, Tokugawa Hidetada, in 1632. However, because he has a large facial birthmark and a pronounced stammer, the superstitious daimyo question his right to ascend to the position and favor his younger brother, Tadanaga, for shogun.

Yagyu Munenori, the head of the Edo branch of the Yagyu family, serves as a prominent political advisor and primary sword instructor to the house of Tokugawa in Edo, and he has placed his clan’s support squarely behind Iemitsu. However, this also means his own family’s standing and power hinges on Iemitsu’s position.

In this delicate situation, Munenori discovers rumors around the shogun’s castle that his youngest son, Yagyu Samon Tomonori, who has been Iemitsu’s sword instructor since his older brother, Yagyu Jubei Mitsutoshi, was fired from the position, is also the shogun’s lover. Worried these rumors would harm his clan’s standing or cause potential political upheaval that would threaten Iemitsu’s position, Munenori believes it is in his best interest to remove Samon from the situation. He announces that his son is ill and sends Samon away to a secluded mansion in the Yagyu valley near Nara in Iga province.

Unaware of the political reasons that caused Munenori to send Samon away, Iemitsu desperately searches for a way to return his lover to Edo. Eventually, he bestows on Samon the title of daimyo and an outrageous stipend of 130,000 koku, which means that Samon is now subject to the Edo posting, which requires all daimyo to live in Edo for at least half of each year, an arrangement that was originally created to prevent clans from planning rebellion against the shogunate.

Enraged at Iemitsu’s move and worried about his clan’s future, Munenori decides that his son cannot be allowed to have any further contact with Iemitsu. He dispatches Samon’s older brother, Jubei, to the Yagyu valley to kill his younger brother, planning to announce that he has died of illness. However, things do not turn out as planned.

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