“After his wounds had healed, my ancestor sought out Minazuki for a fourth time—this time, to pay his respects. However, his unit had pulled out of Wallachia, and it was not until later that he had gotten word that a swordsman from a foreign land had been captured in Brașov. My ancestor rode his horse for three days and three nights to get to Brașov, but the warrior had not been captured. The Wallachian army had shot a torrent of arrows at him because there was no one left who would dare match swords with him. My ancestor became so enraged that he impaled every archer and commander responsible. When he saw Minazuki again, he was still alive. It was then the warrior confessed to being from the future.”
Daigo leaned forward, while his mother stiffened.
At last, they had come to the heart of this strange mystery.
How had his father, who had vanished at sea, been a part of a story that had taken place in a foreign land four hundred years ago?
“I spoke to your father about it.”
Although a dozen arrows had pierced his body, Shôichirô’s voice maintained a steady calm and did not reveal his excruciating pain.
“According to your father, he had been trying to return to his family when he was caught in a strange storm. The sea had swelled with so many waves, it was like a mountain range, driving the wounded men aboard the ship so wild with fear that they threw themselves overboard, even while their comrades were swallowed up by the sea. Lightning tore through the sky; black clouds rumbled. Then your father had been assaulted by a strange sensation—the sensation of being sucked in.”
“Sucked in?”
The count nodded. Daigo considered the irony: that a man who was so great a mystery himself could not solve this one.
“You father actually described this sensation in another way. It might be the key to the puzzle.”
“How did he describe it?”
“He said he had felt as if his brain, blood, stomach, heart… as if his whole body had aged rapidly.”
Had his father felt the passage of four hundred years inside his body?
“When Shôichirô came to, he was in a bed inside a house in a fishing village.
“His travels through time were over even before he knew it. He was washed ashore on the outskirts of Constantinople, the Turkish capital, on the shores of the Bosporus.
“Your father did not talk about the days leading up to his becoming a solder in the Turkish army. However, he must have endured terrible anguish: learning a foreign tongue, earning the respect of an army filled with ruffians. My ancestor left these words about your father:
“‘He was a true warrior, who was full of life and never once revealed his suffering.’
“However, even a warrior must accept his mortality. Only half a day after my ancestor had found him, he died. But first, my ancestor was asked that if he or one of his descendants should live to see the day when it became possible to travel across great distances freely to other countries to please give this to his wife and son, or at least to a blood relative. He gave this dagger and hair to my ancestor. Many years have passed, and I am here to fulfill the wishes of my ancestor and your father.”
The count looked down at the cup in front of him.
“It is not in my character to talk this much. They say a man should speak three words in three years. I’m a little thirsty. I do not drink alcohol, but I will have this.”
He took the cup and gulped the liquid. Mother and son stared. Although it had been a while since Sayo had poured the green tea, it was still very hot. It was certainly hot enough to scald anyone’s mouth.
But the count put down the cup as if nothing were the matter.
“It’s delicious. And far better than black tea or coffee. It seems to cleanse the stomach.”
“Did you have any idea how you might find us when you left your country?” Sayo asked.
“My ancestor wrote down the address four hundred years ago. But with the passing years, the paper and ink had aged badly. The writing was illegible by the time it had reached the generation before mine. So I had no clues to help me.
“Except that any descendant of Minazuki Shôichirô was certain to be a true warrior. I was not mistaken in that.”
The man looked upon Daigo almost sympathetically. Was this the same man who had defeated his master, Kashiwabara Isanosuke, so convincingly at Renbei-jyuku? Daigo felt confused and a little proud at the same time.
Beside him, Sayo quietly wiped her eyes with a sleeve.
“I’ve finally achieved the one goal that brought me to this country. Please, be well. And now, I’ll excuse myself,” he said, as he started to go.
“But I haven’t served you a thing. Please, at least have some sake…”
Sayo seemed confused, having forgotten that the count had said earlier that he did not drink.
“Please don’t bother.”
“We may live in a shack, but I can’t allow a guest who has come from a great distance with news of my husband to leave without showing him my gratitude. Daigo, please go out and buy some sake.”
Daigo was not well. She had forgotten even that.
“Of course.” Daigo got up. “I’ll be right back, so please—”
Despite the count’s protests, Daigo went out.
Sayo also implored him to stay awhile, but the count said grimly, “I am sorry, but I can only move around at night. I must go out now for my meal.” Looking at Sayo intently, he said, “So this is where Minazuki Shôichirô lived. Then this is the home of a warrior. In my eyes, it is a golden palace.”
Sayo’s expression changed. She was not angry. She sensed that the count’s words were genuine.
“Please apologize to your son for my abrupt departure.”
The count stepped out into the entranceway and put on his shoes. Remembering something, he reached inside his cloak with his right hand.
“Oh yes, I nearly forgot. Your husband entrusted me with one more thing. Please take this.”
He set a bundle wrapped in a purple cloth at the edge of the tatami. And then the count bowed deeply and left.