“So you invited me here to insult me?” Chūgo demanded. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have come.”

Anger’s corrosive poison spread through his chest. But the acrimony between him and Matsui had not begun with them. It had deep roots in the past.

After Oda Nobunaga’s murder, most of his retainers were redistributed between his chief generals, Toyotomi Hideyoshi and Tokugawa Ieyasu. But General Fujiwara had spent the short remainder of his life attacking the Araki and Endō clans instead of serving his lord’s allies. After his death, three of his sons-Chūgo’s great-grandfather included-had sworn allegiance to Tokugawa Ieyasu. Matsui’s great-grandfather became a commander under Toyotomi Hideyoshi, surpassing his brothers because his master was Oda’s direct successor. This coup had caused a serious rift between the competitive brothers, who’d broken off all contact.

Now the thought of that ancient rivalry stoked Chūgo’s anger. Setting down his full cup, he started to rise. “Excuse me. I must get back to my post.”

Matsui only laughed again. “You know why I asked you here, and that’s why you came. That’s why you’re neglecting the duty you consider more noble than the pursuit of money-even if you are just a glorified watchman protecting your master from a nonexistent threat.”

Chūgo’s anger flamed into outrage. Clenching his jaws and fists, he yearned to draw his sword and slay the merchant. His greatgrandfather must have felt the same animosity toward Matsui’s. And with what satisfaction must he have greeted the next major event in the family saga.

The rift between General Fujiwara’s sons had widened with Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s death and Tokugawa Ieyasu’s ascension. Chūgo’s ancestor, having fought heroically under the victorious Ieyasu at the Battle of Sekigahara, had accompanied the new shogun to Edo Castle. Matsui’s, and the other two brothers, received lesser posts throughout the Kantō, the rich agricultural provinces outside Edo. Thus the family became separated by physical distance as well as mutual resentment.

Chūgo forced himself to sit back and lift his cup again. He couldn’t afford the luxury of venting his anger, because he’d indeed guessed that Matsui had summoned him for one of two reasons.

Seeking a quick end to their meeting, he broached the more innocuous, though not less serious topic. “You wish to discuss my loan?”

Matsui’s eyebrows rose in feigned surprise. “Your loan? Oh, yes, now I remember. You did borrow a large sum of money. Last year, I believe.”

No doubt he could name the exact date and amount if he chose, Chūgo thought as hatred’s bitter swell filled his throat. The merchant paid scrupulous attention to every business detail. The knowledge that Matsui was toying with him added to his anger, as did Matsui’s next remark.

“Even you, cousin, must admit that we merchants are of some use, no?”

The vulgar oaf would remind him of the shameful fact that while the samurai ruled the land, the merchants controlled its wealth. However, Chūgo’s family hadn’t forseen the double-edged consequences of Matsui’s defection from the samurai ranks when they’d first received news of it.

Chūgo had been fourteen-a year short of manhood and his career with the Edo Castle guard. On that summer morning, he’d been practicing swordsmanship in the barracks with three other young samurai when a castle messenger ran up to his family’s quarters. When his father came to the door to receive the scroll, Chūgo intensified the swordplay, battering mercilessly at the other boys with his wooden sword. He barely heard their cries or felt their counterblows. He knew only the desire to excel, to win, to show his father his worth.

Realizing that the game had turned deadly serious, Chūgo’s opponents fled, screaming. Feeling like the great General Fujiwara, whose blood ran in his veins, Chūgo looked to his father for praise.

His father stood on the veranda. Having just gone off duty, he still wore full armor. The open scroll dangled from his hand. His troubled gaze passed straight through his son.

“Your cousin Minoru has abandoned his post as warden of His Excellency’s estate in north Kantō and opened a sake brewery in Ise,” he said.

Contempt harshened his voice, but his strange smile bespoke pleasure as well as distaste; his eyes gleamed with righteous satisfaction. “Out of some remaining vestige of decency, Minoru has dropped the Fujiwara name-for which we can be thankful-and now calls himself Matsui.”

Chūgo’s father had schooled him in Fujiwara clan history from an early age. He understood that his cousin’s shameful act, while disgracing the clan, elevated his own branch within its hierarchy. He grinned, triumphant as though he’d won another victory.

Then his father’s eyes focused on him, and Chūgo saw himself as the older man must: a lanky, barefoot youth with a silly wooden sword. Through the misery of his shame and inadequacy, he heard his father’s voice.

“It’s up to us to uphold the family honor. You’ll have to do more than win children’s games if you expect to match General Fujiwara’s standard.”

Chūgo heard similar admonitions with increasing frequency throughout his young manhood, because his clan’s glee over Matsui’s disgrace soured as they watched him grow ever richer and more influential. While they scrimped to meet rising expenses with their fixed stipends, Matsui lived extravagantly. The Chūgo, as guard captains, saw the shogun during large ceremonies and business meetings; Matsui enjoyed private audiences. His position as financial agent of the Tokugawa put him closer to the seat of power than Chūgo would ever get. With a mixture of fury and humiliation, he realized that his wayward cousin had bettered him.

Now Chūgo fumed, remembering the debts he and his lord owed Matsui. He usually sublimated his desire for battle-a samurai’s rightful work-in the meticulous execution of his duties. But now, with keen pleasure, he felt the power that always flowed through his body the instant before he performed an iaijutsu exercise. He imagined his hand flashing to his sword. He saw the blade whip free of the scabbard and blur across space, yearned for the sensation of sharp steel against flesh and cartilage. In his mind, he saw Matsui fall dead, and himself the victorious warrior…

A needle of fear pierced Chūgo’s fantasy as he studied the stout, smiling, and still-very-much-alive merchant. Was Matsui calling in his loan? He couldn’t possibly pay now. He had heavy expenses and no ready cash.

“Oh, you’re right on schedule with your payments, Chūgo-san. There’s nothing to discuss… about that, anyway.”

A spate of dread swept away Chūgo’s relief. Only his samurai stoicism enabled him to feign indifference. “Then what do you want?”

Matsui’s jovial manner fell away like a dropped screen, revealing the shrewd trader who had made fortunes for himself and his clients. “We must discuss the Bundori Murders, and how to protect ourselves.”

“I don’t understand,” Chūgo stalled.

Suddenly his need for liquor almost overcame his distaste for Matsui’s hospitality. He longed to gulp the heated sake: potent, heady. Because of course he understood Matsui’s meaning.

“Sōsakan Sano has learned about General Fujiwara,” Matsui said, “and about the feud that ties him-and us-to the murders. He’s talked to you, too, hasn’t he?”

“How did you know?” Chūgo demanded, alarmed both by Matsui’s knowledge and the fact that Sano had spoken to the merchant. Sano must truly believe he would find the murderer among General Fujiwara’s descendants. What a disaster, should this information become public! “Who told you?”

Matsui shrugged impatiently. “I have many clients in the castle, whose debts I forgive in exchange for favors. Who told me isn’t important. This is: Did you tell Sōsakan Sano the family secret?”

Chūgo barely managed to contain his shock at this blatant mention of the secret, passed down through the generations since General Fujiwara’s death. It was the one tie that bound their family’s estranged branches. Chūgo could remember vividly the day his father had bequeathed it to him.