Seishunjidai no Tsuma…   The Wife of Youth

**Ichimaku**

Osaka, mid-summer, Bunkyuu Year 3 (1863) ---

The heat was oppressive.  The very air around him seemed to be waging a war against him, determined to push his skull to the breaking point.  His head ached abysmally.  Saitoh swore under his breath as his fingers futilely rubbed at his scalp.

Would Serizawa never shut up?

"What's wrong, Hajime-kun?' the object of his curse suddenly asked.  The voice dripped with sarcasm, but Saitoh couldn't lament the quiet it brought to the room.  "Is a little hot weather proving victorious over our irascible fellow?"

"Say what you will," Saitoh retorted.  "It's certainly loosened your tongue more than usual today."

Serizawa laughed.  Snapping shut his fan, he stood and wandered to where Saitoh sat, leaning against a porch post.  "How very perceptive you are," fan slapping at the long fingers.  Stroking on either side of Saitoh's forehead, he soothed with tone as much as action, "But then, you always are.  One day, it's either going to get you into trouble or save your life."

"Would you care to make odds on which it will be?"

"Hmmm… Maybe we should ask Harada to organize a lottery."  Serizawa gestured with a nod to one side of the open shoji.  "Perhaps Nagakura over there could be imposed upon to suggest the venture to him when we return to Kyoto."

"He'll only agree if he and his men get to make the first wager," Nagakura reminded with a smile.

"His children, you mean."  Flicking an eyebrow in disdain, Serizawa sighed.  "One would think by now he would have enough of his own and not feel the need to be paternal towards his squad."

"Gets results," Shimada spoke up.  "Men like to think they're appreciated."

"They are samurai.  A samurai doesn't need to be appreciated to do his duty."

"They are men first, Serizawa."  Okita leaned back, taking advantage of the slight breeze that rose up.  His tail brushed the tatami as he tilted his head.  "If you do not understand that, then why do you take the trouble to ease Saitoh-san's pain?  As his superior, are you not acting in a paternal fashion by trying to alleviate it?"

Serizawa looked at the face before him.  The predatory eyes closed, Saitoh appeared peaceful… so unlike the manslayer he was.  The lean face was gentle in relaxation as the pain had dissipated and allowed the young man to drop off into sleep.  When the heavy head lopped to one side at the loss of support from healing fingers, it suddenly struck in Serizawa's mind… Okita was right.

"Time to show these people the Mibumura Roushigumi can take anything… and do it with style."

+++++

Whose stupid idea had it been to go out onto the river, Saitoh miserably thought to himself.  It didn't matter that, at the beginning, he had thought it to be one of brilliance.

Eight men had boarded the pleasure boat like lords.  By the time of their approach to Nakanoshima, only seven retained the illusion.  His head spinning with pain, Saitoh had only just managed to heave himself half way overboard before the retching began.

"Very classy," laughed Nagakura.  "The residents of Osaka are sure to remember the Mibumura Roushigumi now."

From the other end of the boat, Serizawa laughed loudly.  "At least he had the good sense to do it over the side."

On bent knees, Okita shuffled across to take hold of Saitoh's shoulders and steady him.  He pulled him close, encouraging Saitoh to lean against him, and freed a hand to feel the forehead.

"This isn't something to laugh about," Okita chastised in alarm.  "He's burning up.  We need to get help."

"Okita's right."  Yamanami sat back after satisfying himself of Okita's claim, and turned to Serizawa.  "It's not just the heat.  He's ill."

"Very well.  Let's see to getting someone.  We'll judge the healer's effectiveness by how long it takes Saitoh-san to join us in a party, shall we?"

+++++

If it was his destiny to die this day, Saitoh cursed whatever gods had written it so.  The cuts, the bruises, the broken bones of training and battle were merely irritation by comparison.  His life as a ronin had begun ignobly with the disavowal of his father.  Was that one error in judgment… a lesson never to be forgotten… to be the keystone to all of his suffering?  Was that to be the reason he would be denied a valorous end, instead to fall to the indignity of sickness?

He was barely aware, certain only of being held up and half carried, half dragged by Shimada's strong arms.  That they had made landfall was less certain, dizzy as he was, and only presumed at by what he perceived to be the heavy footsteps of Shimada bearing his burden.  The voice coming through his muffled hearing was unmistakable, however.

"Get out of the way," Serizawa demanded of someone Saitoh could not see.

"Who are you to tell me to get out of the way?  YOU get out of MY way!"

A cry reached Saitoh's ears, fading into fuzzy silence.

"Kuso!  That won't go unnoticed!" he heard someone else exclaim.  "That's a sumo wrestler!"

Saitoh felt the journey resume.  He looked to the ground, to where a discernable body lay motionless, and tried to focus his sight.  He regretted his curiosity almost at once as the pool of deep red blood spread.  The hot earth quickly absorbed it, but in his fevered mind, Saitoh watched as the liquid reached accusing fingers towards him.

No!, he thought with a shout that hurt his head and came out as only a faint struggle against Shimada's hold.

"Quiet, Hajime-san," he heard Shimada tell him.  "Let Serizawa worry about it… not that he will."  No more than a few steps later, there came the sound of Serizawa's heavy iron fan striking.  "Okay, now he has something to worry about."

"Serizawa!" Hirayama stopped and squatted down to check on the fallen man.  A bruise was already forming on the broad forehead.  "If those two are from the same stable… there will be hell to pay."

"Nothing we can't afford.  Against our swords, they're nothing but fat men with an equally fat opinion of themselves."

"With rich backers," Nagakura added.  "You keep this up and you will bankrupt OUR backers."

"You worry too much… all of you."

"There's good reason to worry," Yamanami told Serizawa.  "Lord Matsudaira is generous, but I doubt it extends to paying for sumo wrestlers made useless by your whims."

"What whims?"  Slapping the fan against his thigh, Serizawa raised his voice in frustration.  "We have a sick man and they were in the way.  Should I have risked Saitoh's life by taking unnecessary time to negotiate right of passage with a fat-headed moron?"

"Had you ignored his arrogance and told him we had an emergency… "

"Feh!  We would have been locked in a senseless argument."

"Maybe.  But…"

If only he had the strength.  Within the weakening shell of his body, Saitoh's spirit was restless as more of the argument came to him.  If only he could catch his voice, he would have told them all to shut up.  How long did they have to know Serizawa Kamo before they realized chastisement would never have an effect and that contradiction merely fed his self-importance?

+++++

Footnotes:  For information about Serizawa Kamo and the day on the river when Saitoh became ill (as well as other Serizawa shenanigans), see: victorianDOTfortunecityDOTcomFORWARDSLASHstanfordFORWARDSLASH130FORWARDSLASHbio3DOThtml .  There are actually three separate pages worth of information about the Shinsengumi, all of it excellent and detailed.

I am being rather free with forms of address.  My assumption (always dangerous) is that they would tend to call each other by surname, but in some circumstances reflect the brotherhood that seemed to exist and switch to some use of personal names and honorifics.  The pecking order here, from highest to lowest, is: Serizawa Kamo, Yamanami Keisuke, then Okita Souji, Nagakura Shinpachi, Hirayama Goro, and Saitoh, and possibly a little lower in rank, Shimada Kai and Naguchi Kenji.

The Shinsengumi were originally named Mibumura Roushigumi (Wanderers of Mibu Village Group).

Mibu no Ame