The Lord Master of one of the greatest clans in Aomori province had only one child, a son he loved dearly and was very proud of. The son, who had been raised from childhood to be a great samurai, was brave and strong and devoted to his father. The father had himself been known and feared far and wide as a warrior in his youth.
The Lord's struggles against his foes had not been for conquest, but to make the land secure for his people. After defeating the warring clans who envied his prosperity, the Lord had finally brought peace to the countryside. He was a kindly ruler, and his land flourished. The crops were abundant during the years of his rule. His subjects loved and respected him. Knowing that the son was much like his father, they felt that their future was assured.
Still, there was a small larva eating away inside the magnificent fruit. The Lord knew it was there, but thought it too insignificant to be of concern.
This one blotch was a nephew who, though a brave samurai himself, was nevertheless jealous of the Lord's son. That jealousy drove him to try and undermine the Lord's confidence in his only child. The Lord merely smiled in amusement at the insinuations the nephew made, dismissing them as the product of a sadly twisted mind. One day, after a fine meal, where the Lord had perhaps had somewhat too much rice wine, the nephew, who had been eating with him, prodded the Lord into bragging about his son.
"You say your son would do anything you commanded him to do?"
"Of course. His father comes first in his eyes. I need only hint, and he rushes to do my bidding. I could command him to step off a cliff, and he would do so without a moment's hesitation."
"Perhaps you feel so only because he has never truly been tried. Now, Mongol chiefs have a special test for their eldest sons, who can never ascend to the chieftainship until they have passed it."
"What is it?"
"When the son comes of age, he is expected to stay in a small circle, drawn by his father, and he must remain in that circle for three days with neither food nor water. No matter what temptations he may encounter which might make him want to leave it, he must remain for three whole days, to drink nothing, to eat nothing, to speak to no one."
"The Lord snorted in contempt. "Why not an encounter with a dozen enemy warriors? Or a challenge to climb the smooth face of Uma Rock. Three days in a circle is nothing for even the meanest of samurais. For my son it would be but a pleasant interlude freed for meditation."
"Perhaps, My Lord, but the test is deceiving. The greatest of the Mongol chieftains arrange ingenious temptations. Most of their sons fail."
"Bah! That is because they are weaklings."
"Then you would not be afraid to put your son to the test?"
"Of course not, but it would be a waste of time. Why bother to prove that which is true?"
"You would not be fearful of the outcome, even if you allowed me to arrange the temptations?"
The Lord no longer made any attempt to hide his scorn. "There is nothing you could do to move him. I give you leave to try."
So the son was asked to undergo the test, and as his father had expected, he accepted with alacrity. Squatting in the circle drawn by his father, wearing a straw cloak and a peasant hat, he crossed his arms and looked off into the distance. Catching the last rays of the setting sun, he smiled and prepared himself for the coming hours.
In the meantime, the nephew arranged the temptations with the amused connivance of the Lord. The father spared no effort or expense to prove that his son was worthy to succeed him and to rule after his own departure from the world.
On the first day of the son's test, early in the morning, the most beautiful and famous of Japan's courtesans came and knelt outside the circle, facing the immobile samurai. Her words were sweet, her voice was like the sound of a koto, its tone was marvelously seductive. She described the pleasures that would be his if he would come with her. She opened the pages of a lavishly illustrated pillow-book and showed him, page by page, what she would do for him.
He needed but to step across the line to be guaranteed pleasures unknown and unavailable to ordinary men. The hours went by. She persevered, but there was no sign that her efforts would be rewarded.
Finally she rose from her knees, and said sadly, "Never have I encountered such a man. Truly, I would have been your slave. I would have loved you as you have never been loved before and as you can never hope to be loved by any other." With those words, she turned and departed.
The tale of what had happened sent the Lord into gales of laughter. "Had the woman been fashioned by the hands of the immortal Buddha himself, and for just that purpose, my son would have been unmoved. His word to me is sacred. He would never violate it. You waste your time. In two days, not only will my son have proven himself, but when the test is over I will turn the rule of my lands over to him. I thank you for helping me to arrive at a decision I should have made years ago."
The nephew had barely started with the son's ordeal, however, and the elements conspired with him. That night, a violent storm raged through the land, but daylight still found the son unmoved, water streaming off the straw cloak. Then, a string of packhorses, led by a balding man whose demeanor clearly indicated he was of noble birth, slowly wended its way from the horizon toward the small circle.
The new temptation was soon revealed. Servants unstrapped one of the many chests carried by the animals, stepped almost to the line and emptied it to reveal a treasure trove of gold coins.
"This," the nobleman began, "can all be yours. You have my pledged word for it that if you will step outside the circle, all these chests, each with contents equal to or exceeding this, will be given to you. You will be the richest man in Japan."
The son's eyes never wavered. Horse after horse was unloaded, the pile of brilliant coins grew and grew. The nobleman's voice, even more seductive than that of the courtesan, spoke of what the treasure could bring to the son in luxurious palaces, concubines to sate the most jaded of tastes, the most talented performers from all over the world, the rarest delicacies to tempt his palate, homage from envious princes, pleasures beyond his wildest dreams.
All was for naught. The eyes never wavered. The coins returned, handful by handful, to their caskets. One by one these were retied onto the backs of the patient animals. Before leaving, the nobleman looked at the squatting, immobile figure, shook his head sadly and said, "My own son would have sold his soul-and mine-for one rice basket of those coins."
That evening, the Lord smiled down with satisfaction at the bowing form of his nephew, saying, "I placed all of my possessions in jeopardy for today's trial. The Shogun, himself, stood surety for me and sent his most trusted minister to make the offer.
"Had my son stepped from that circle, everything I own would have gone to the moneylenders. My people would have become their slaves, and even I would have gone into servitude. But, not for a moment did I doubt the outcome of this trial. Believe me, you can do no more."
"I know," the nephew answered in the humblest of voices, "and yet I have one more day. Tomorrow will be my final effort. I know it is a feeble one, but then I will be certain that, once it has been attempted and my cousin still remains in the circle, your faith in him will have been completely vindicated."
The Lord laughed good-naturedly. "Let the test proceed." His voice hardened. "But this I know-that as soon as the sun has set tomorrow, my son will step from that circle to receive the reins of government from a father who never for a moment doubted his devotion." He paused, then added, "I will also tell him who was originally responsible for this test. I suggest you start praying that his spirit of forgiveness is equal to his filial piety."
The next morning, the sun rose to find the son still squatting, an almost imperceptible smile on his face. The birds, which had now become used to the immobile figure, flocked around him. Two of the more courageous of them landed on his shoulders. The morning wore on, and there were only the songs of the birds and the sun rising to its zenith to keep him company. Then, late in the afternoon, a masked man wearing the swords and double scabbard of a samurai came walking toward the circle from the distance. His stride labeled him quite clearly as a skilled and experienced swordsman. At sight of him, the birds flew away, squawking in terror. Minutes of silence went by as the newcomer eyed the still form.
Then, in a hoarse guttural voice, he demanded directions to the nearest village. Receiving no answer, he repeated the question. Sneering, he went on, "Now I recognize you, the son of the Lord of the Clan. What a pitiful figure you are, squatting in the dust, your swords rusting in their scabbards. How he must be ashamed at having a coward for a son."
The son's eyes barely flickered, but made contact with the eyes staring at him from behind the mask. With renewed energy, the masked man heaped insults on him. He described in lurid detail the son's lack of virility, rivaled only by his unnatural lusts, themselves incapable of achieving satisfaction because of his pusillanimity. Anger rose in the son's face, his muscles twitched, but he made no move to rise or to confront his maligner.
The sun had begun its final slide toward the western horizon, and still the tirade continued, the harsh voice reeking with contempt. Then, abruptly, the torrent ceased. After a pause, the masked man squatted also, a scant few paces from the line drawn on the ground. The contempt deepened even further, as the lips behind the mask formed words and phrases so vile that the son's face reddened; a vein never before seen throbbed in his forehead.
The insults were no longer directed at him. Now the target was his father. What had gone before was, by contrast, but the language of children teasing each other at play, such was the filth now being heaped upon the Lord of the Clan.
It was too much. A howl of mixed anguish and uncontrollable rage rose deep in the son's chest as he whipped his sword from its sheath, and rushed across the line of the circle. With a movement almost too quick for the eye to see, he swept its razor-sharp edge across the throat of the masked man. The figure was dead before it crumpled to the ground.
With the tip of his sword, the son flicked off the mask, to reveal the face of his father.