“Lady Takeko’s reputation, you mean,” Takeko said. “Lady Takeko has to be proper and polite, and make herself attractive to a wealthy suitor. Lady Takeko is an item to be traded. But what about me, Jimmu—the real me? Yes, you and I started out as a game. I was bored, and it was fun to pretend with you, but what happens when the pretense becomes reality?”

Jimmu deliberately made his voice harsh.

“Pretense can never be true, My Lady,” he said. “The truth is that I am a servant, and you are a noblewoman of the Choju family.”

Takeko seethed with fury.

“Then tell me you don’t care about me, and I’ll leave you alone!” she snapped.

Jimmu looked straight at Takeko, hoping that the expression in his eyes would reveal nothing of his true emotions.

“I don’t care about you, My Lady,” he lied.

“I don’t believe you!” said Takeko.

Her red cape swirled as she turned and walked away.

On the morning of the departure for Hamamatsu, Jimmu, uncomfortable in his newly fitted armor, lined up in the main courtyard with the other troops, while priests chanted blessings. When the chanting ended, Lord Ankan appeared in full battle gear, his war fan opened to reveal the crest of the Choju family.

With one voice, the soldiers called on him to lead them to glory. “Ei!”

And he answered them yes. “O!”

“Ei!”

“O!”

“Ei!”

“O!”

Jimmu found it impossible not to be caught up in the atmosphere. The soldiers around him were no longer strangers, but comrades who would march together and face death together. Jimmu was proud to be among them and, for the first time in his life, felt that he was part of something.

Lord Ankan completed the final ritual. As he passed through the outer gates, he stepped over a kitchen knife, a gesture believed to protect his home from attack in his absence. Then he mounted his horse, and the troops set off.

Jimmu rode out of the castle. He wondered if Takeko might be watching from the battlements, but he did not turn to look back.

What would be the point? he thought. I’ll never see her again.

That evening, Lord Ankan’s troops made camp in a river meadow. The men lit fires, and the foot soldiers used their iron helmets as cooking pots for their rice ration.

After eating, Captain Muraki relaxed near the fire outside his tent, but Jimmu could not settle. He sat down, wriggled, stood up, and paced to and fro, feeding branches to the fire.

“What’s troubling you?” asked the captain.

Jimmu hunkered down and peered at the red shapes that shimmered at the core of the flames.

“I’ve never fought in a battle before,” he said. “I’m not afraid, but I’m worried that I may do the wrong thing.”

Captain Muraki smiled.