“Your resolve has weakened!” Nichiren rasped. “You should not allow yourself to indulge in these emotions!”

But what are these emotions? Jimmu wondered.

That afternoon, in the bustling, noisy mess hall, Jimmu was still brooding, and did not notice when Kambei sat down opposite him.

Kambei glanced at Jimmu, and then at Jimmu’s bowl, which was half filled with noodles, bean curd, and seaweed.

“Are you leaving that, Jimmu?” Kambei said.

Jimmu blinked rapidly.

“Take it if you want,” he said. “I’m not hungry.”

Kambei emptied the contents of Jimmu’s bowl into his own.

“Off your grub because you had a fight with that pretty maid of yours?” he teased. “It must be love.”

“Love?” gasped Jimmu.

“No need to be bashful, Jimmu,” Kambei said. “Believe it or not, I was your age once, and I had many lady friends.”

Nostalgia made Kambei’s eyes distant.

“Women!” he said with a sigh. “They’re miraculous beings who bring new life into the world. They’re goddesses who can transform a hovel into a paradise. I’ve never understood them.”

Kambei’s expression changed.

“Watch out, here’s Captain Muraki!” he muttered. “Wonder who he’s after?”

The answer was quick in coming. Captain Muraki saluted Jimmu and said, “On your feet, guardsman. Lord Ankan has sent for you.”

Jimmu stood up and followed the captain across the hall. The little food he had eaten turned sour in his stomach. He breathed in deeply to steady his nerves. Lord Ankan must have found out about his liaison with Takeko, and was summoning the lowly guardsman to punish him. Had Takeko betrayed him? It did not matter. Nothing mattered now.

At the door of the mess hall, Jimmu reached out to take down his helmet from a peg.

“No, Jimmu,” said Captain Muraki. “Leave your helmet and spear where they are. Only bodyguards are permitted to carry weapons in His Lordship’s presence.”

It’s of no importance, Jimmu said to himself. You know of seven ways to kill a man with your bare hands. Choju Ankan will die today, and you will die along with him.

Lord Ankan received Jimmu and Captain Muraki in a room that was far smaller and plainer than Jimmu had expected. A samurai stood guard outside, and two more were positioned in the room’s far corners. Their presence, and the presence of Captain Muraki, greatly decreased the chances of Jimmu making a successful attack.

Lord Ankan was seated on the floor, with his back to Jimmu and the captain. He was working on a painting. A sheet of paper had been spread out on a rush mat. Beside the mat were a bowl of water and an ink block. Ankan had sketched a mountain peak rising from a wooded valley, with three cranes flying across the sky. He worked quickly, his brush describing a curve here, a straight line there.

“Guardsman Jimmu, My Lord!” announced Captain Muraki.