by I. J. Parker
The Emperor's woman
I. J. Parker
I. J. Parker
The Emperor's Woman
Snow
It started snowing heavily as he made his way uphill with his burden. At first he took little notice, except that the drifting flakes cooled his skin. She was infernally heavy and awkward to hold because of her pregnancy. Besides, her long hair and parts of her clothing swept the ground and kept getting caught on branches. He would have taken her clothes off, but he needed to make this look like suicide.
He paused a moment to shift his load and use the silk of her full sleeve to mop his face. The snow was falling more heavily. He glanced up the stony path leading to the cliff. Already the dirt between the stones was turning white. He realized that this sudden snowfall was a very good thing and smiled. If he left any tracks, the snow would soon hide them. There would be nothing to show that she had not walked this steep path by herself before jumping off the cliff. Luck was with him. In the end, it was always so. He started climbing again. Best do this quickly and be on his way.
When he reached the promontory, out of breath and tired, he let his burden slide down and looked around. He was well above the villa, whose roof he could not see from here. He liked the loneliness of the spot. A hermit would have built his hut here to meditate in solitude on the Buddha. On all sides rose forested hills, hazy and immaterial behind the veil of falling snow, and the rock outcropping before him jutted over an abyss. Some fifty feet below him, a small brook splashed over and around rocks toward the valley. The sound of the waterfall that fed the brook blotted out all other small noises, even his heavy breathing.
This made him look back nervously, but all was empty except for him, the woman on the ground, and the drifting snow. Already snowflakes clung to her hair and turned the deep blue of her silk gown pale. Her face-what he could see of it-was as white as the snow. There was a little blood in her hair, not much. He had been lucky to hit her so as not to break the skin and leave stains in the house.
Her eyelids fluttered. He gasped. She was coming round. He must hurry. Moving cautiously up to the edge on the slippery rocks, he peered over. He had to make sure she would not catch on something on the way down and survive the fall. Having selected the best spot, a sheer drop fifty feet to the bed of the brook, he turned back, grasped her under the arms and dragged her to the edge. When he released her, she gave a small moan and raised one arm. Shifting her body, he got ready to give it a hard push. At that moment, she opened her eyes and looked up at him.
If she was pleading, it was too late. He was frightened into sudden action; she slipped forward and was gone.
Stunned by the momentary eye contact, he crouched near the edge. When she hit the rocks below, the sound was very small, almost lost in the rushing of the waterfall.
Then there was only the sound of the water and the silent falling of the snow. Cold crept up his hands and knees.
He shivered and slowly crawled backwards, then straightened up, and stood. The snow fell thickly, in large wet flakes. With darkness, it would become cold, and by morning the world would be covered with in a blanket of purest white.
He wiped the sweat from his face and found that his hands were shaking. That look she had given him. They said the ghosts of the murdered pursued their killers. With a muttered prayer, he started back down the path, slowly at first, and then faster, until he was running, slipping on the wet stones, brambles ripping at his clothes and hands.
A Dangerous Conspiracy
Akitada’s day began quite pleasantly. The sun had made its appearance, the children had woken them early, and now Akitada stood on the veranda, watching as they chased his wife and each other around the garden. Birds chirped and the cherry tree’s branches were thick with buds. From the front of the house came the sound of barking.
Tamako, raising her long gown and showing smooth legs and bare feet, passed him. She was rosy with exercise and called out, “The wisteria is alive. And I think it will bloom,” then squealed as Yasuko snatched at her long hair. Yoshitada, who was still too slow to be a real contender, burst into loud giggles and toddled after them.
Akitada strolled over to the wisteria, so pregnant with significance for their marriage, and studied it attentively. Tamako was right. A good omen.
He had presented her with a blossom from the ancestor of this plant on the morning after their marriage night. It had come from her own home which had been destroyed by the fire that took her father’s life. Years later, when they lost Yori, their first son, to smallpox and grew apart and bitter, the transplanted wisteria had declined and stopped blooming. Since then, both Tamako and Akitada had checked it every spring for signs of new life on the gnarled old trunk.
Whistling softly to himself, Akitada walked to his study, where Saburo awaited him with tea and hot rice gruel. Saburo, a disfigured ex-monk, had taken over many of Seimei’s functions after the old man had died.
Akitada thanked him and received in return the grotesque grimace that was Saburo’s smile. Saburo was indefatigable in his efforts to make himself useful and to prove a faithful servant. In spite of his unsavory past, Akitada had not regretted taking him on.
When his workday at the ministry began, Akitada was still in an excellent mood. He managed to finish a thick stack of dossiers before he was called to the minister’s office. Gathering them up, he went to see Fujiwara Kaneie.
Kaneie was a privileged member of the ruling clan and had managed to obtain his lucrative assignment without much effort or talent for it. The upper positions in the government were riddled with such men, while the actual work of the government was carried out by underlings or a few career officials in the lower ranks. Kaneie was one of the better senior officials in that he readily admitted his shortcomings and left the work to abler people like Akitada. He was also a friendly and affable man.
This day he seemed abstracted. He signed and stamped the last document with his seal, then handed the sheaf of papers back to Akitada. “Have you heard the news about Prince Atsuhira?” he asked.
Akitada searched his memory for Atsuhira and found, hazy by the distance of years, a rather pleasant young man he had met at one of his friend Kosehira’s parties. But, no, there had been a more recent incident. It had involved the prince’s love affair and a case of blackmail. He said, “I haven’t heard anything recently. I believe we met many years ago.” He paused, adding a little doubtfully, “I liked him then.”
The minister nodded. “Yes, he’s a very pleasant man. Married to one of the Fujiwara daughters. I cannot believe the tale. Nobody thought he had it in him.”
“Had what in him?”
“The kind of ambition that makes men overreach themselves. We all assumed he’d given up any hopes of succession, but here his name is linked to a very unsavory business. It may also involve his wife’s father and uncle. And several other high-ranking men as well. A major conspiracy, if one can believe it.”
Akitada tried to recall what he knew of the prince’s marriages. As a potential heir, he had taken one of the daughters of the present chancellor to wife. He said, “He seemed unambitious when I first knew him. But that was a long time ago, and his name has come up once before. Is he in serious trouble?”
It had been six years ago when the prince’s uncle, Bishop Sesshin, had contacted Akitada because he had feared one of the prince’s love letters had fallen into the wrong hands. The letter had contained some very incautious remarks about His Majesty.
The minister said, “Oh, yes. Exile perhaps. And he won’t be going alone.” The minister shook his head. “There are always the innocent who suffer along with the schemers.” He looked at Akitada. “I should hate to lose this post.”
Akitada was startled. “B
ut surely not you, sir? Did you know the prince well?”
The minister gave a weak chuckle. “No, not really. But I do know his wife. The way these things go, once the censors have their teeth into a conspiracy, they make a wide sweep. I recently attended a party with him.” He paused. “Speaking of parties, I think you know Fujiwara Kosehira.”
“Yes, he’s my friend.” Akitada smiled. “And you’re right. He used to give some famous parties, but Kosehira hasn’t been in the capital for years. He has estates in Yamato and has been serving as governor of Omi Province for two years now.”
“Oh, then I regret to tell you he has been recalled to explain his role in the affair. It seems there was correspondence between him and the prince.”
“Kosehira is involved? I cannot believe it. He’s the most apolitical of men. It must be a mistake.”
“Possibly. But they used to say the same of the prince. Perhaps they kept their intentions from the world?”
“No. Kosehira would never do such a thing.” But that would not matter to his enemies. Akitada clutched the documents to his chest. “Forgive me, sir, but I think I should go to him. I hope I can give you more reassuring news when I get back.”
“I don’t think that’s very wise, Akitada.”
Akitada did not wait for any more. He rushed from the minister’s room to his own and flung the documents on the desk, telling his clerk, “Please have these delivered to the appropriate persons.” Then he dashed from the building.
What puzzled him was that Kosehira had not contacted him. That did not bode well. Perhaps he had already been arrested and was under guard somewhere.
Hurrying through the palace grounds, he was soon out of breath and a sharp pain in his side forced him to slow down. Years of paperwork had made him an old man.
He felt miserable and helpless about Kosehira. What could he do in a case of high treason? Guilt for not keeping up with the friend who had stood by him all his life shamed him. Kosehira had defended Akitada in his university days, when the unpopular Sugawara heir had been mocked by the sons of high-ranking nobles. Later, throughout Akitada’s career, whenever trouble had befallen him, he had interceded for him. And what had he done in return? Less than nothing. He had forgotten his friend, or very nearly so. Since the odd memory had invariably brought uncomfortable guilt feelings, he had banished thoughts of Kosehira quickly.
And now Kosehira was in serious trouble.
Fujiwara Kosehira’s residence occupied a large corner in the best quarter of the capital and was impressive enough to have served on two occasions as the temporary home of an empress and a crown prince. Kosehira was generous, and the house had never really been closed during the years he was absent. Akitada, still out of breath, was relieved to find no soldiers at the open gates or in the courtyard. All looked quiet enough in the spring sunshine.
His arrival was noted, however. A servant appeared, bowed, and asked his purpose.
“I understand Lord Kosehira is in residence. Please let him know that Sugawara Akitada has come to see him.”
The servant bowed again and left, Akitada following more slowly. He saw now that there were a few people about. The stables seemed unusually quiet, though. His heart grew heavy again. Surely such a lack of activity was unnatural with Kosehira in residence.
He had reached the steps to the main residence when the servant reappeared, followed by Kosehira himself.
“Akitada,” his friend cried. “I’m so glad to see you. How did you know? It’s very good of you to come so quickly when I’ve only just arrived myself.” The smile was the old Kosehira’s, but there was something drawn and tense about him. His slightly corpulent figure seemed to have shrunk, become less buoyant and bouncy.
Akitada ran up the steps and they embraced. For a moment emotion nearly choked Akitada. He made up for it by clasping Kosehira very tightly to himself. They hugged, laughed a little, and patted backs, then finally parted to study each other’s faces.
Kosehira had lost weight and looked older. There were lines in his face and a few gray hairs in his mustache. Akitada felt a surge of affection for him, stronger perhaps because of having neglected him.
“How is the family?” he asked.
Kosehira chuckled. “Thriving. There seem to be more children running around every year. Mind you, I’m very fond of them all, but I’ve been known to mix up their names. And their mothers.” He rolled his eyes. “Not advisable, my friend. You’re lucky you have only one wife to worry about.”
“You used to urge me to take more.”
“I know. And I love all my ladies. Come in. I think we can get something to eat, but I only just got here.”
The news had spread quickly if Kaneie already knew. That was ominous.
They settled down in Kosehira’s study, which looked dim and smelled unused, but two servants appeared quickly with a brazier of glowing coals and trays with snacks and wine.
Akitada waited until they had left again and Kosehira had poured their wine before saying, “I just heard a strange a story from the minister. I still cannot believe it, but I rushed over so fast that I was out of breath. Is it true? Kaneie thinks you’re in danger of arrest for treason.”
Kosehira made a face. “No, no. There is some confusion. Don’t worry, Akitada. All will be well. I came up to straighten out a few things, that’s all. It’s nothing… or rather, it affects someone else. But drink your wine and let’s catch up on family news. How is your lovely lady? And the little ones?”
Kosehira hardly touched his wine, and Akitada was not at all satisfied, but since his friend seemed eager to hear about Akitada’s new little son-well into his third year by now-he complied. Kosehira then recited the names and ages of his own large brood, his face softening as he recounted their achievements and amusing tricks.
Happy children, thought Akitada, to have such a father who doted on them and had the leisure to spend time with all of them. He never seemed to have enough himself.
When they ran out of family matters, Akitada said, “Kosehira, something is wrong. Will you not tell me about it?”
His friend’s smile faded, and he looked away. “It’s nothing I want you to become involved in, Akitada. The last thing you need is more enemies among those in power.”
Akitada smiled wryly. “You don’t think my reputation is sufficiently good yet to keep me out of trouble?”
Kosehira did not smile. He said bluntly, “No, I don’t. Not for something like this. And I won’t be able to do anything for you.”
Taken aback, Akitada sat silent for a moment, but their long friendship overcame the slight resentment. “I expect you’re right. I’ve relaxed because things have been quiet lately. I like Kaneie, and he likes me, but I tend to forget how dispensable I am and what long memories some people have.”
“Forgive me for speaking harshly, Akitada.” Kosehira reached across to touch his hand. “I don’t want to be the one to bring you more trouble.”
“I know that. But I’ve just been told that you’re involved in some conspiracy with Prince Atsuhira, so there’s no point in keeping things from me. I will try to find out what I can whether you take me into your confidence or not.”
Kosehira sighed. “Akitada, I tell you, this is not for you. Think of your family. And you with a new little son. I would never forgive myself-.”
“Tell me, Kosehira!”
“Did you ever meet the prince?”
“Yes. Here, in your house. I thought him a nice man… in spite of his imperial blood.”
A weak chuckle greeted that. “A very nice man. I got to know him well over the years. He’s married to one of my cousins, the regent’s daughter. Kishi prefers to use her Chinese name, even though Atsuhira is no longer considered for the succession. That will tell you how proud she is. Those girls were all raised to be empresses someday. The disappointment that he didn’t want the succession weighs heavily on her.”
So possibly, Atsuhira’s wife was behind this. Perhaps her aspirations
had suggested the plot. Women could be very fierce when they fought for their families. He wondered if there were children.
Kosehira sighed again and went on. “There was an affair. I knew about it because we corresponded. He was very deeply in love and planned to take the young woman to wife. I suspect Kishi found out. In her anger, she must have made some allegations, and that’s why Atsuhira has been charged. I’m involved because of our correspondence. There you have the whole story. There’s no truth to the conspiracy rumor. It’s all due to the fabrication of a passionate woman with enough power to destroy her husband.”
Akitada digested the information. The prince was an inveterate womanizer and clearly it had got him in trouble again. And once again, there was a letter trail. Though this time, Akitada was too late to fix the problem.
He said, “There must be more to it than that. They would not move against him otherwise. He’s the son of the last emperor. What of his father? Can’t he do something to protect him?”
Kosehira grimaced. “The retired emperor is in ill health and has forsaken the world rather more completely than most. He resides like a hermit in the wilderness of Mount Hiei, hoping for sainthood. Such men have truly abandoned their families.”
“That’s both ridiculous and reprehensible!” snapped Akitada.
His passion brought a slight smile to Kosehira’s drawn face. “Irreverent as always. You know, Akitada, part of your troubles come from the fact that you don’t behave as you ought to. It upsets people.”
“I know. I try to curb my tongue as best I can.” Akitada smiled, then sobered. “What does Atsuhira say? You say you corresponded. Do you recall any comments in his letters to you that could be called treasonous?”
Kosehira did not answer right away. He looked down at his hands folded on his lap. After a long moment, he said, “We would occasionally pass an observation on events. That’s only natural and didn’t mean anything. As for the prince’s reaction to the charges against him, I don’t like betraying a confidence, especially of this kind, but he’s in dire straits and does absolutely nothing to defend himself. Perhaps you can at least advise me how to get through to him.” He gave Akitada a pleading look. “For the past three months he hasn’t answered my letters, and he refuses to see me. His personal servant is frantic. He fears that Atsuhira will take the dark path. He hardly eats and spends hours staring straight ahead with tears pouring down his face. I’m at my wits’ end. I write-no answer. I go to see him-no admittance. I’m turned away from his house like an enemy. I cannot find a single man who was once his friend and will now speak for him or about him. I tell you, Akitada, if it weren’t so infernally dangerous, I would have turned to you long ago.”