“Why should anyone think the child is not yours?”

“None of my wives has ever had a child. And the story of the armed monk who came here and killed my guards has made its way to the capital.”

“That has no bearing on whether you are the father of my child.”

“You will stay here. You will bear the child here at Daidoji.” He smiled at her. “It is really best for you. Pregnant women should not travel. The custom of a woman going home for the lying-in was followed when all the best people lived right in the capital. Besides, there are excellent midwives here in the village. You will be very comfortable.”

“You are holding me prisoner.”

“Only for your own good.” He stood up and left her.

Taniko felt more alone than she had at any time in her life. She read The Tale of Genji: a beautiful illustrated copy which Akimi had sent her. She liked it better than The Tale of the Hollow Tree. As her stomach started to bulge, she carried herself straighter and tried to hold it in.

“That is good,” said the midwife from the village of rice farmers who worked the paddies around Daidoji and paid sixty per cent of their harvest to Horigawa. “Girls who have husbands and are proud of their babies always let their bellies stick out. They have a bad time when they give birth. Girls whose babies have no fathers are ashamed. They try to hide their bellies, suck them in. And always, they have an easy delivery, because all that holding in makes them strong through here.” She laughed and stroked her hands over her pelvis. “Keep holding your belly in, my lady. But why are you ashamed of this baby? You have a noble prince for a husband.”

Having no one else to confide in and liking the midwife’s smiling, moon-like face, Taniko said, “I do not know whether this baby has a noble prince for a father.”

Taniko considered the notion of going to the Shima house in Heian Kyo without the prince’s permission, but it seemed impossible. From the way his dozens of samurai watched her, she was sure they had orders to keep her on the estate. And even if she were able to slip away, it was unsafe to travel on foot or on horseback. How could she get a carriage and driver? And how could a carriage escape the mounted samurai who would inevitably come after her? No, she decided, she would only distress herself by trying to run away.

The midwife came to examine her once a month. She told Taniko the baby would probably be born in the Seventh Month. Taniko noticed that when not talking to anyone the midwife would constantly mutter under her breath, the same words over and over again. At first Taniko thought the woman was mad. It would not surprise her at all if Horigawa had provided her with a demented midwife. But the woman was pleasant and made so much sense most of the time that Taniko dismissed that explanation.

“What is it you keep saying to yourself?” she finally asked.

“Homage to Amida Buddha.”

“Ah, a prayer.”

“It is more than a prayer. If you repeat it with sincerity, you are saved for all time. When you die your spirit will be reborn in the Pure Land far to the west, where it is possible for even the weakest of us to attain enlightenment and achieve Nirvana.”

“Is that why you say it over and over again?”

“Yes. Also because it is such a great comfort. When I invoke the name of Amida Buddha over and over again, it feels as if I am carrying Buddha within me, just as you are carrying that baby inside you. Try it some time, my lady. When you are feeling sad or in pain, just say, ‘Homage to Amida Buddha’ over and over to yourself until you feel better.”

One particularly beautiful day in the Seventh Month, as she sat reading under a parasol, Taniko found herself thinking back to her ride with Jebu down the Tokaido Road to Heian Kyo. When she realized that those were very nearly the last happy days of her life, a great sadness swept over her. Feeling foolish she said, “Homage to Amida Buddha.” She repeated it. After she had said it about twenty times the sharp edge of the sadness seemed blunted. It was as if she had drunk sake, but with none of its after effects.

The next time she tried the invocation was when she began to feel labour pains. She sent a servant to the village for the midwife, then went to the chamber that had been prepared as a lying-in room and lay on her futon, saying, “Homage to Amida Buddha.”

The midwife came, and they recited the prayer together. Taniko was in labour all the rest of that day, all the night and most of the following day. Holding in her belly did not seem to have helped.

Taniko awoke to see Horigawa leaning over her. His sour breath made her feel sick, and she turned her head aside. He grasped her under the chin and forced her to look at him.

“Taniko, your baby has been born.”

“Yes.”

“It is alive. It is a daughter.”

“Good.”

“Taniko, it has red hair and grey eyes.”

Taniko felt her heart turn to ice. Feebly, she said, “Many babies are born that way—”

“No, Taniko.” Horigawa bared his teeth in what almost seemed a smile. “It is his. The monk’s.” He turned abruptly.

Taniko, her whole pain-racked body trembling, raised herself up on her elbows. “What are you going to do?”

Horigawa snatched the infant from the midwife’s arms, held the little, red naked body up as the baby squirmed and squalled. “Look, Taniko. Behold the living proof of your faithlessness.” The baby’s eyes were shut and the hair looked light brown to Taniko. She reached for her daughter. Horigawa laughed at her helplessness and ran from the lying-in room. Swaying, staggering, knocking over the one feeble oil lamp that lit the room, Taniko forced herself to get to her feet and follow him.

“What are you going to do? What are you going to do?” She ran after him through the rooms of the women’s quarters.

On the veranda the midwife caught up with her. “My lady! You’ll hurt yourself. You must lie down.” She held Taniko.

“Help me! He’s going to kill my baby!” Taniko fought free of the midwife. With a rapid stride Horigawa was crossing the front yard of the manor to the gate, the naked baby clutched to his chest. Samurai came out of the guard house to stare at him.

Heedless of the way her single robe flapped open, revealing her nakedness, Taniko ran after Horigawa and seized his arm. Horigawa whirled and knocked her to the ground with a backhanded slap. The midwife came and knelt by the gasping Taniko. She started to help Taniko rise, and Taniko gripped her hand.

“I’m too weak. I can’t stop him, Help me.” The midwife stared fearfully at Taniko, then scrambled to her feet and caught up with Horigawa. Blocking the prince’s way, she fell to her knees.

“Please, my lord, give me the baby.” She held out her arms.

Holding the baby with one arm, Horigawa drew his dagger and lunged at her.

“Homage to Amida—” she screamed, but the invocation ended in a horrid choking sound. Horigawa stepped daintily around her, wiping his dagger on his sulphur-coloured robe before sheathing it. Blood splashing her kimono like the petals of a giant scarlet peony, the midwife toppled forward and fell face-down in the dust. Taniko’s scream was as much for the woman who had helped her as for the baby.

They embraced, and Jebu turned his back on Taitaro and on the blazing Waterfowl Temple and started walking down the beach towards Hakata.

Chapter Nineteen

From the pillow book of Shima Taniko:

One hears very little from the capital these days. Once in a while Akimi manages to slip me a letter or a present by way of a trusted servant. I can only guess how it makes her feel to be Sogamori’s mistress. Poor Akimi-san. Her son Yukio is now a novice monk at the Buddhist temple on Mount Hiei.

Sogamori has had himself appointed chancellor. This is an ancient office, long left vacant, and is considered higher than the office of Regent. Fujiwara no Motofusa, who is now Regent, must be grinding his blackened teeth down to stumps. With the office of chancellor and with tens of thousands of Takashi samurai ready to spring to do his bidding, Sogamori is the real ruler of the Sunrise Land.

According to Akimi, Sogamori was recently heard to say, “Anyone who is not a Takashi is not a human being.” That remark has been repeated all over the capital. People follow the Takashi fashion in everything from the way men wear their ceremonial hats to the style of the family crest on one’s clothing. Anyone who wants to be in fashion must study and copy the way things are done in the Rokuhara.

A strange and frightening thing happened yesterday. A troop of Takashi samurai visited Daidoji. Their leader was a giant barbarian who spoke our language very poorly, with a thick accent. He questioned all the guards who fought with Jebu, then came to see me.

Arghun Baghadur, he said his name was. What sort of an outlandish name is that? He would tell me nothing of himself, save that he does the bidding of Sogamori and had old Squint-Eyes’ permission to question me. He asked me many questions about Jebu, to most of which I answered that I did not know. Having been told by Horigawa that I speak Chinese, he conversed with me in that language, which he spoke passably well.

I made one stupid mistake. After he had asked me many questions I declared that I had no interest in Zinja monks, especially those of barbarian descent. He pounced at once.

“Then you know of his descent. He must have told you about himself.”

I had only intended to make an insulting reference to this Arghun Baghadur’s own barbarian background. Led on by my wish to hurt, I forgot myself and made a serious error. It was as Jebu once told me: the warrior who acts out of anger or hatred is simply seeking his own defeat.

I answered that I had guessed Jebu’s barbarian ancestry from his appearance. Suddenly I realized that Jebu had told me his father was killed by a giant barbarian with red hair and blue eyes, and that the barbarian wished to kill Jebu. Instantly I felt sure this was the very man. If only there were some way I could warn Jebu.

The barbarian pressed me with questions for an hour more. I pray I told him nothing else that might help him. After he left, I fainted. Compassionate Buddha, help Jebu.

-First Month, eighth day

YEAR OF THE SHEEP

Arghun Baghadur’s visit brought her last meeting with Jebu vividly back to her. Finally she forced herself to accept a fact she had only suspected in the months since she had seen Jebu. She was pregnant.

Compassionate Buddha, she whispered to herself, help me.

She waited another month to be sure, before telling Horigawa the news on one of his infrequent visits to Daidoji. She asked his permission to go to Kamakura for the lying-in. Any place was better, she thought, than this god-forsaken country rathole. And once she got away from Horigawa, she might be able to find excuses to avoid returning to him.

“Out of the question,” said Horigawa.

“But a woman of good family returns to her home to give birth.”

Horigawa smiled and tapped his fingertips together. “Not, I think, when the home is as far away as Kamakura. It would be entirely too dangerous to your health. What would your honoured father think of me, if I let you journey so far? He who takes such good care of every passing traveller, such as the Muratomo boy.”

Taniko’s heart sank. “Then send me to my uncle’s house in the capital.”

“Oh, no. Never again will you go to the capital. You disgraced me there once. It will not happen again.”

“I did not disgrace you.”

“There are many there who know that you were the go-between for Akimi and Sogamori. Now Akimi acts the great lady as Sogamori’s mistress. People know that you thwarted my efforts to have the Muratomo brats eliminated. Among those people I am a laughing stock because of you. Now, when you arrive in the capital with your belly swollen, there will be rumours that the child is not mine. I will not be laughed at because of you.”

“Why should anyone think the child is not yours?”

“None of my wives has ever had a child. And the story of the armed monk who came here and killed my guards has made its way to the capital.”

“That has no bearing on whether you are the father of my child.”

“You will stay here. You will bear the child here at Daidoji.” He smiled at her. “It is really best for you. Pregnant women should not travel. The custom of a woman going home for the lying-in was followed when all the best people lived right in the capital. Besides, there are excellent midwives here in the village. You will be very comfortable.”

Jebu darted around the log, slashing at Arghun. He expected the big man to duck back, but Arghun stood firm, parrying Jebu’s sword with a clang. They were almost chest-to-chest, and Jebu thought how unusual to be fighting someone as big as himself.

Arghun put his boot behind Jebu’s bare heel and tripped him. Jebu saved himself by turning his fall into a somersault, rolling away from Arghun’s thrust. Part of Jebu’s anger turned against himself. He was fighting poorly tonight. He was making mistakes, letting himself be taken in by obvious tricks. He told himself that he must get the better of the Mongol. Otherwise he would be failing himself, his father and the Order. Not only his life but the meaning of his life depended upon it.

Jumping to his feet, Jebu wondered when the rest of Arghun’s men would join in. Surely they could hear the ringing of sword on sword. Why didn’t Arghun call them? Probably because he wanted to kill Jebu himself. What was Taitaro doing? Jebu dared not take his eyes from Arghun for an instant.

The Mongol was moving in on him again. Unlike the Zinja, who frequently fell back or feigned retreat in order to draw their opponents off-balance, Arghun stayed constantly on the attack, his blade slamming again and again into Jebu’s. Jebu knew Arghun was trying to wear him down, overwhelm him with his strength. To break the momentum of Arghun’s attack, Jebu crouched and swung his short sword at the Mongol warrior’s legs.

Arghun leaped into the air, bringing his sabre down on Jebu’s blade with all his strength. Jebu lost his grip under the force of Arghun’s blow. The Zinja sword went spinning across the room. Still crouched, reaching for the lost blade, Jebu saw Arghun poised over him, his sword upraised for the death blow.

Rolling himself into a ball, Jebu hit Arghun’s legs. The Mongol started to topple, then caught himself with a dancer’s grace and whirled to strike at Jebu again. Jebu felt the impact of the sword’s point and edge biting into the flesh of his upper arm.

Then the candle went out.

Arghun’s blade, seeking him again, rang on the temple’s stone floor. Jebu realized instantly why Taitaro had been standing near the candle. He had given Jebu his chance, and had blown the candle out when he thought Arghun was going to kill him.

Now Arghun was roaring for his men. “Get in here and bring light! The monk I’m after is here!”

Jebu remembered where his Zinja sword had struck the far wall. He ran for it and snatched it up, then turned to look for Arghun.

“Jebu, you fool! Here!” Jebu felt Taitaro’s powerful fingers on his arm. Taitaro propelled him around to the back of the altar. Jebu heard stone grind against stone. Then Taitaro was pulling him again, and he squeezed through the opening and heard the stone door slide shut behind him.

Taitaro lit a candle and beckoned Jebu. Soon they were in the tunnels in the mountain, far below the temple. Taitaro turned on him angrily.

“I told you precisely what to do, but you wouldn’t listen. If you had, you’d be safely on your way to Hakata. Now you’re wounded, and you’ve still got to walk to Hakata. Let me see that arm. You’re bleeding heavily.” He helped Jebu clean and bind the wound.

“You’ll have a scar there. I hope you’re proud of it.”

“Sensei, you’re angry because I put myself in danger. But what else could I do? The man who killed my father, sitting there talking about killing me— He has been hunting me, sensei. And you were in danger, too. I had to attack him.”

“I don’t want you to be killed by that man.”

“I won’t be. I will kill him some day.”

“Jebu, he killed you tonight, on the plane of combat skill. You did not fight as a Zinja should fight. You were angry and vengeful, and therefore you were conscious and controlling at every moment. You did not let the Self fight. You hungered for revenge on Arghun as an ordinary man hungers for a beautiful woman. Think back on it.”

Jebu remembered. He had entered the temple composing himself for battle in the usual way, but somehow when he had launched himself at Arghun he had forgotten all that. More than anything in the world he had wanted to kill the Mongol giant. Throughout the fight he had incessantly been telling himself what to do. And he had always been wrong. Remembering, he was crestfallen. Truly he had fallen far short of the Zinja ideal. Perhaps it was his Mongol blood.

“You are right. I am humiliated.”

“Humiliation is our best teacher,” said Taitaro. “It is as kind to us as an old grandmother. I wanted you to know this man. An empty space in your life was filled up tonight. But now you should forget the tale of your father and Arghun as you would forget yesterday’s meal. It does not matter how you came to be born or where you came from or what men did injuries to your father. Until you can go against Arghun stripped bare in mind, he will always be able to get the better of you.”

Shame was a leaden weight in Jebu’s chest. “I am afraid, sensei, that I am a bad student. I hunger for beautiful women, like any ordinary man. I haven’t learned not to care about winning and losing. With Arghun, the man who killed my father, the wish to win became my master.”

“You are young, Jebu. The Zinja teachings aim at perfection, but you are not expected to be perfect. We hope you will learn to apply the teachings often enough at this stage of your life that you can live long enough to apply them still more.”

The weight in Jebu’s chest felt lighter. He smiled gratefully, looking into Taitaro’s weary, kindly eyes.

“I will try to care less.”

“Consult the shintai, the Jewel of Life and Death, every day. It will help you to see things more clearly.”

Together, in silence, they made their way downwards through the tunnel system. At last they were on the beach under the half-moon and the stars. Another light caught Jebu’s eye and he looked up in horror. The Waterfowl Temple was burning.

The temple had always reminded Jebu of a bird. Now the tongues of flame were like feathers and wings, and the temple was, not a waterfowl, but a great bird of fire poised for flight.

Rage followed shock. “I wish I could run back up the mountain and kill them all.”

“They are stupid men, and burning the temple is a futile act.” said Taitaro. “It doesn’t matter. We set no great store by temples. They’re just so much firewood in the end.”

They embraced, and Jebu turned his back on Taitaro and on the blazing Waterfowl Temple and started walking down the beach towards Hakata.

There were still unanswered questions. Who, exactly, was Jamuga? Who was Genghis Khan? What had Jamuga done to call down upon himself such relentless vindictiveness? But Jebu felt he had heard enough. It was time to act, while Arghun was still talking to Taitaro, before the Mongol became restless.

Mongol. Whatever a Mongol is, I’m partly one, too.

When he burst up through the temple floor, Arghun would be taken by surprise. That, plus his Zinja training, should be enough to enable him to kill the man who had killed his father. In the darkness he reached up to move the stone slab.

He found he could not touch the ceiling. He paced the room from wall to wall, reaching above his head as high as he could. His fingertips touched empty air. He felt the walls for a handhold. Except for the low opening to the tunnel Taitaro had told him about, the walls were smooth. He was caught like a cricket in a jar. There was no way to climb out.

Jebu clenched his fists and growled to himself. Taitaro had known about this. The old devil had planned it this way, to protect him.

Promising himself he would have a word with Taitaro, Jebu crouched and crept through the low tunnel. In total darkness, he had to feel his way. The tunnel was lined with stones which formed a vaulted roof to prevent collapse. It must have taken many months to build it that well, even though it was only about fifty feet long. But the tunnels under the temple were bored through the solid rock of the mountain. How long had they taken? The Zinja were patient.

Now the tunnel began to slant upwards. Jebu’s fingers touched rough stone. He pushed gently. The stone moved easily. A crack of light appeared, and he cautiously raised the stone a little more.

He heard the crackling and crashing of Arghun’s samurai stumbling around the brush-grown temple grounds searching for him. He raised the stone enough to be able to see his immediate vicinity. There was no one near by. He pushed himself out of the tunnel, creeping flat along the ground, and dropped the stone back into place.

Through weeds and shrubbery, Jebu snaked towards the temple. He darted up the steps. Cautiously, he peered into the temple entrance. He could see two dark, seated figures, one small, the other a bulk like a mountain, facing each other near the altar, a candle on the floor between them. From this distance he could not see Arghun’s face well. But the Mongol had his profile to Jebu and might detect a movement out of the corner of his eye if Jebu rushed him.

Thinking of shadows, Jebu edged around the entrance-way and crept along the back wall of the temple to the rear corner. He drew the collar of his hood up over his nose and mouth to muffle the sound of his breathing. At last he was behind Arghun.

Your armour is your mind. A naked man can utterly destroy a man clad in steel. Rely on nothing but the Self.

Slowly, silently, he worked his way along the side wall of the temple. Taitaro would probably see him, but the abbot would give no sign. Jebu drew his Zinja sword. A further soundless progress towards the altar, and he was facing Arghun’s broad back.

Rely on nothing under heaven. You will not do the fighting. The Self will do the fighting.

The ritual sentences of preparation for combat were swept aside by an overwhelming urge to kill the man who had killed Jamuga. Jebu poised the Zinja sword, aiming the point at Arghun’s red-cloaked back. Then he sprang away from the wall, launching himself at Arghun.

Just before Jebu reached Arghun, the Mongol rolled to one side. Surprised, Jebu dived past him. Suddenly he was driving the point of his sword at Taitaro’s heart.

“No! Father!” Jebu screamed. He heard Arghun laugh in the shadows.

Jebu’s Zinja-trained reflexes came to his aid and he swung the sword wide. Taitaro also moved quickly, springing to his feet. But they could not help falling into each other.

“Idiot! He saw you reflected in my eyes,” Taitaro snapped as the two of them went down together, disentangled themselves and quickly stood. Jebu was furious at himself. He had been taught about eye reflections and had forgotten.

Jebu saw that when Arghun evaded the sword thrust he had also seized the candle. It was on the altar now, and the Mongol was standing beside it. His sword, long and curved though not as long as a samurai sword, gleamed in his hand.

Arghun and Jebu stood looking at each other. Jebu could read nothing in the narrowed blue eyes. They were fierce and empty as the eyes of a falcon. The Mongol’s hair was hidden under his helmet, but the red moustache was a surprise. It was the same colour as his own hair. Why, he looks like me, Jebu realized.

Arghun grunted. “I knew if I kept the old man talking, you’d come sneaking around. You are Jamuga’s son, no doubt of that. You are as big as he was. But I think you will be easier to kill than he was. You’re just a child.”

Jebu was stung by the contempt in Arghun’s voice. “A very-well trained child, Arghun. Who intends to kill you this night.”

Arghun shrugged. “There is training, and then there is experience.”

Without warning, Arghun leaped at him, bringing his sabre down in a stroke that would have cut Jebu in two had he not leaped backwards. Arghun kept charging him, thrusting and slashing.

Jebu ducked around the hanging hollow log that served as a temple gong, keeping it between himself and Arghun, slowing down Arghun’s rush. Jebu took a crouching attack position, his short sword held before him, waist-high. He was swept by a wave of exhilaration. This man had taken his father from him. Now he would pay with his life.

Jebu darted around the log, slashing at Arghun. He expected the big man to duck back, but Arghun stood firm, parrying Jebu’s sword with a clang. They were almost chest-to-chest, and Jebu thought how unusual to be fighting someone as big as himself.

Arghun put his boot behind Jebu’s bare heel and tripped him. Jebu saved himself by turning his fall into a somersault, rolling away from Arghun’s thrust. Part of Jebu’s anger turned against himself. He was fighting poorly tonight. He was making mistakes, letting himself be taken in by obvious tricks. He told himself that he must get the better of the Mongol. Otherwise he would be failing himself, his father and the Order. Not only his life but the meaning of his life depended upon it.

A faraway look came into Taitaro’s shadowed eyes. He turned away from the altar and looked through the temple entrance into the darkness outside. He hurried around the temple, blowing out candles until they were almost in darkness. One small candle remained in his hand.

“A group of mounted men just passed through the gateway. Hide yourself. I will meet them.”

Chapter Eighteen

Taitaro pressed down on a small block of stone in the floor, tipping it upwards to expose an iron ring. Pulling on the ring, he raised a slab covering a chamber under the floor.

“Down there you’ll be able to hear everything. There is an entrance to a tunnel leading from that chamber to what used to be the monks’ quarters. Slip down the mountain and go to the Teak Blossom Temple at Hakata, where your mother and your old friends are.”

“I don’t want to hide. I will not abandon you.”

Taitaro laughed. “Jebu, I have been a Zinja abbot for twenty-three years. Do you really think I’d have any trouble escaping from a party of samurai? No one can hurt me unless I permit it. Now, get down there.”

It was so dark that Jebu could not see the floor of the chamber below. He jumped into the blackness and fell further than he had expected to, his feet striking stone with an impact that stunned him. Taitaro closed the slab over him, and Jebu was in darkness. It was so like. the night of his initiation that it brought back all the memories of that ordeal. He felt his way to a corner of the room, sat down and waited in total darkness.

Carrying his candle, Taitaro slowly crossed the temple to the entrance. He questioned himself, wondering why he had bothered to hide Jebu. The two of them could easily defeat or escape from a group of samurai.

It was because he was tired of bloodshed. He wanted to see if he could deal with these samurai quietly and send them away in peace. If Jebu were with him, there would inevitably be fighting.

The mounted warriors galloped up to the temple steps and stopped. Taitaro held up his candle to get a better look at the horsemen. They had Red Dragons embroidered on the breasts of their surcoats.

A deep voice addressed Taitaro. “Old monk, I remember you. You are the Abbot Taitaro.” The voice spoke in Chinese.

With the aid of the candle Taitaro peered at the man who had spoken. Taitaro recognized him instantly, with a shiver of mingled anticipation and dread.

The huge man wore a fur-trimmed iron helmet topped by a single spike that came to a needle-sharp point. The collar of his red cloak was edged with silver-grey fur. His silk surcoat was a bright scarlet. His eyes were ice blue. His reddish-brown moustache hung in long strands on either side of his mouth. His cheekbones were broad and prominent, his face deeply lined and scarred, his skin tanned to brown leather by sun and wind and sand. He was wide through every part of his body—shoulders, chest, arms, legs.

“I know you, as well,” said Taitaro, answering in Chinese. “But I do not know your name.”

“I am Arghun Baghadur.” The big man jumped from his horse, handing the rein to a samurai beside him, and climbed the steps of the temple with the rolling gait of one who has spent a lifetime in the saddle.

Taitaro said, “As you see, this temple is undefended. You and your men are welcome to enter and rest yourselves.”

Following Taitaro into the temple, Arghun said, “We need not waste time, Abbot Taitaro. I seek the monk called Jebu. I have followed his trail all over Honshu and Kyushu. I know he came here.” Arghun spoke Chinese heavily, gutturally.

Taitaro was delighted. This was a splendid stroke of good fortune for Jebu. With a little skilful prodding it might be possible to get this barbarian to tell the full story of Jebu’s father, for Jebu’s benefit.

Taitaro pointed to the Red Dragon on Arghun’s surcoat. “Do you seek him on behalf of the Takashi, or for some other reason?”

“While in this Land of the Dwarfs it suits my convenience to ally myself with the Takashi clan. But I pursue my own ends. I have come here, as you must know, to slay the monk Jebu. Where is he?”

Taitaro sighed and seated himself, gesturing that Arghun should do the same. He positioned himself at one side of the slab under which Jebu was hiding.

“I felt chilled and sent Jebu out into the forest to cut firewood for me.”

Arghun strode to the temple entrance. He wore felt riding boots and his tread was soft, despite his size.

He called out to his men. “Search the woods around here for a tall, red-haired monk. Bring him to me unharmed.”

Taitaro said, “Let the will of heaven be done. I can do no more to protect Jebu. But I do not understand. This young man was a baby when you came here last. He had done nothing to you then. He has done no harm to you now. Why do you want to kill him?”

“It is a sacred obligation I have undertaken, and I may not rest until I fulfil it. Surely, as a warrior monk you can understand that. Genghis Khan is dead now, but his command binds me: Let Jamuga and all his seed be slain, let his blood vanish from the earth.”

“Ah, yes,” said Taitaro. “Jamuga told me of his people. Herdsmen living in the cold, dry plains north of China.”

Arghun laughed. “We Mongols are no longer tent-dwelling cattle herders, old man. We are conquerors, and we live in palaces.”

“It is a cruel thing to put a man to death for his father’s offence.”

“At the will of Genghis Khan whole cities have been wiped out. Every man, woman and child has been killed, every building levelled. Now riders can pass over the spot and herdsmen graze their cattle without ever knowing there was a city there. It was a small matter for Genghis Khan to decree the destruction of one family. When the Great Khan is offended, expiation must be made throughout heaven and earth.”

Standing below in the darkness, Jebu felt himself trembling. It had taken him a few minutes to recall the spoken Chinese he had learned in the temple years ago. But he understood enough. This was the slayer of his father. Now this warrior had come across the sea again, hunting him. It was dream-like, in a way. It was hard to believe they were actually talking about him.

There were still unanswered questions. Who, exactly, was Jamuga? Who was Genghis Khan? What had Jamuga done to call down upon himself such relentless vindictiveness? But Jebu felt he had heard enough. It was time to act, while Arghun was still talking to Taitaro, before the Mongol became restless.