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long, white slithering shape accompanied by eerie flute music. People remembered that the daughter had been an accomplished player of the horizontal flute. As for the cruel suitor, his fate was a terrible one. He began to feel icy things crawling across his neck at night, and he was dead within a month. Some say he died of fright, some say he was strangled.”
    Matsuzo’s hand involuntarily went to his throat and he swallowed. He glanced at Zenta and saw that he was listening to the story with a faint smile.
    â€œSince that time,” continued the old woman, “the ghost has appeared several times in this region. In each case, it was at a time when a girl was forced into marriage soon after the death of her father. You can see an obvious parallel between the old legend and Lady Tama’s situation. That’s why the appearance of the ghost now is enough to frighten the chamberlain.”
    â€œAnd it is clear why the appearance of the ghost must be very welcome to Lady Tama,” remarked Zenta.
    â€œAre there many ladies here who play the bamboo flute?” asked Matsuzo with a grin, anxious to prove that the ghost story had not frightened him in the least. “Lady Tama is probably an expert player at this instrument.” Ume looked furious. “So! You dare to accuse us of arranging a fake ghost! Just wait, you skeptics. There are horrible stories about people who refuse to believe in ghosts!”
    Zenta laughed. “When I feel icy things on my neck, my last doubt will vanish!”
    The old woman’s face suddenly became blank. She bowed without a word, and sliding open the door she quietly left the room.

Chapter 5
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    Zenta could see that his companion had a question on the tip of his tongue. As soon as the door closed behind the old woman, Matsuzo asked, “Do you think that Shigeteru will try to get in touch with Ume?”
    â€œWhy does everyone assume that Shigeteru and his men are coming?” said Zenta.
    â€œWell, the chamberlain and Jihei seemed to expect his coming,” said Matsuzo. “Perhaps they have some definite news.”
    â€œShigeteru would be a stupid fool to come here and attempt to take over the castle by force,” said Zenta. “He would be an even greater fool to reveal his identity to that gossipy old woman.”
    â€œHe might not have any choice about revealing his identity,” Matsuzo pointed out. “I think she would recognize him.”
    â€œI doubt it,” said Zenta. “You heard what Ume said: Shigeteru was only a boy when he left. Ten years, at his stage of growth, can change his looks completely.”
    â€œI still think Ume knows something,” insisted Matsuzo.
    Zenta didn’t bother to answer. Ume was stupid and thought herself cunning, a disastrous combination in a conspirator. He wanted no part of her dangerous plots. Taking out his two swords, he sat down on a straw cushion and began a minute examination of the blades. Then from a little pouch attached to his sash he took out a small jar of oil and some rags. With these he polished his swords, his hands caressing the beautiful grain of the blades.
    It had been said that a samurai’s sword was his soul. For Zenta, his swords were also his only constant companions in his lonely, wandering life. They had been given to him by a grateful warlord. For a while his future at the court of this warlord had looked bright, but he had left that job, just as he had left so many other promising jobs.
    Zenta glanced at Matsuzo and wondered how long the young ronin would be able to stand their life of restlessness and near starvation. Even worse was the occasional humiliation, such as when they had to ask for lodgings at farm houses because there was no money for an inn.
    â€œWould you like to stay at this castle permanently?” Zenta asked his companion.
    Matsuzo looked wistful. “This is a strong castle, from what I’ve seen of it so far. Are