White Serpent Castle. Lensey Namioka

      The two young samurai paused at a bend in the road. They stood for a moment and looked up at the length of white plastered wall which followed the contours of the hillside and lay as if about to uncoil. Seen from this angle, the castle looked like a huge white snake.

      As the two travelers continued on their way, the main portion of the castle gradually came into view. The high point was the watchtower, soaring up into the sky like the head of a serpent poised to strike. The purpose of the castle was wholly military. Yet, seen in the late afternoon sun, the sprawling structure had an impressive grace and beauty.

      “The name of the castle must come from its shape,” said Matsuzo.

      “The local people tell a different story,” said Zenta. “They say that the name is from the legend of the White Serpent.”

      “You mean that ghost story they were telling back at the village?” said Matsuzo. He didn’t want to admit he had been impressed by the story. According to the villagers, the daughter of a former lord of the region had thrown herself into the castle moat and changed into a monstrous white serpent. From that time on, the White Serpent Ghost emerged from its resting place in the moat whenever a crisis threatened.

      “Apparently a report is around that the ghost has been seen at the castle recently,” said Zenta.

      Whether or not the report about the ghost was true, Matsuzo knew that the crisis was real enough. Lord Okudaira, the commander of the castle, had died a month ago and left his nine-year-old son as heir. These were troubled times. The control of such a strategic castle was of crucial importance. The nine-year-old boy would become the pawn of any unscrupulous man who seized power.

      Already Zenta and Matsuzo had heard confusing rumors of a power struggle. According to one story, the chamberlain of the castle wished to make himself the legitimate successor of Lord Okudaira. To strengthen his position, he planned to force Lord Okudaira’s daughter to marry him.

      It was because of these rumors that the two men had come. They were ronin, unemployed samurai, going wherever there was promise of violence and confusion. In this struggle for the succession, they might find opportunities for work.

      “What do you plan to do?” Matsuzo asked his companion. “Are we going to throw our support behind Lord Okudaira’s young son?”

      When Zenta didn’t reply, Matsuzo said, “Surely you’ve decided? The boy is Lord Okudaira’s only son and his official heir.”

      “It’s true that the boy is Lord Okudaira’s official heir,” said Zenta. “But he is not the only son. He has an older brother.”

      Matsuzo stopped in his tracks and turned to look at his companion. “What? If there is an older son, why isn’t he the successor, then?”

      “The older son is missing,” replied Zenta. “People around here haven’t seen him for almost ten years.”

      There was a long silence. The two men walked on. Finally Matsuzo said, “How do you happen to know so much about Lord Oku- daira’s family?”

      Zenta looked amused. “Since we were looking for work at the castle, I made it a point to learn as much as I could about the situation here. I’m surprised you didn’t take the trouble to find out.”

      Under Zenta’s quizzical gaze Matsuzo grew confused. “I suppose I did hear something about it,” he muttered.

      With a small shock he realized he knew nothing about his companion’s family background. He had met Zenta a few months ago in a small village. The place was buzzing with talk about the five ronin who had routed a troop of bandits terrorizing the region. When Matsuzo saw Zenta, the leader of the five, he had been surprised to find him very spare of build, with no sign of any unusual strength. Matsuzo had been brought up on