The Emperor in Shadow

by Richard Parks

  “I understand your desire to leave,” I said. “Yet certainly the story should be completed.”

  “No, it is wretched,” she said. “I am not Lady Murasaki. When I no longer need to waste time, it will have served its purpose. Completion would be to waste good time instead of bad.”

  “I would love to read it,” I said.

  I could see her silhouette as she covered her face with her sleeve to show she was smiling. “No, you would not. Yet it is kind of you to say so.” She paused for a moment, then went on, “Has the city changed all that much? I saw so little of it before I was brought here.”

  “You were last here eighteen years ago,” I said. “While my last time was a mere three years since, so I am not certain I can answer your question. I can say it looks much the same after three years.”

  “I want to visit the Gion Shrine. I want to see the moon from Enryaku Temple. I want to see the sunrise at the Imperial Palace. I want to do almost anything save stay here. Yet here I am. I could almost wish myself married and sent to some far province, except . . . ” Her voice trailed off.

  “Except what, Highness?” Kenji prompted. “Would you be sad to leave the Capital if your future husband’s situation required it?”

  “Not necessarily. It would depend greatly on where I was to go and whom I was to be with. I try to be indifferent in regard to the marriage, but, as you can certainly understand, it has been on my mind since I heard His Majesty’s intention.”

  While it was true Tagako’s fate was decided in part by her birth into the royal family and she understood the duties and obligations of her station—eighteen years in semi-exile at Ise would have taught her that—I could still imagine myself in her position. If my father had lived, it was quite likely I would have had a marriage arranged for me and for reasons not dissimilar to those which applied to Princess Tagako, nor would I have had any more say than she did.

  “Perhaps your future husband is a good man who will treat you well,” I said, knowing it sounded weak.

  “Then I would be more fortunate than many, but when I consider the possible matches, I have my doubts. I could be married into the Fujiwara. Yet that seems unlikely, as none are or will be of the emperor’s faction save Yorinobu, who is a good man but elderly and he already has a principal wife. None of the other kuge families are that important to the emperor strategically, so it seems far more likely I will be allied to a military family such as the Taira, Minamoto, or Hojo.”

  I followed Tagako’s logic and agreed with it. It was the buke, the military families whose power was growing, who would make the best strategic alliance. While they all of necessity kept homes within the Capital, the base of their power was in the provinces, and the key members of those clans spent the bulk of their time there.

  When Tagako spoke again, there was a hint of forced cheerfulness as she plainly was attempting to lighten the mood. “I know! Let us play a game. I will call it ‘Whom Should I Marry?’ The one who comes up with the best choice as judged by myself is the winner. Call Morofusa and Ujiyasu over. I am sure they can help.”

  As was their habit, the two bushi had chosen to take up observation positions at a discreet distance from us in the garden, but they obeyed rapidly enough when I waved them over. Princess Tagako quickly explained the rules and the two seemed to give the “game” serious consideration, no doubt to Tagako’s amusement.

  “Well, there is Taira no Yoshitaka,” Morofusa said. “He is—”

  “—In line to become clan chief of the Heike, yes. He’s also all of twelve years old,” Princess Takago said. “As an alliance it would work. From any other standpoint? No. Try again.”

  “Well, there is Lord Yoshiie,” Ujiyasu said. “Such a match with the Genji would certainly reinforce the emperor’s security.”

  “He already has a principal wife from the Hojo clan. She is not someone he could set aside without causing problems,” she said. “No, not Lord Yoshiie.”

  “Well, perhaps not as a principal wife—” Ujiyasu persisted, but Tagako stopped him.

  “Whatever else I might be, I am a princess of the royal house,” Tagako said. “A position as secondary wife would be an insult to the emperor . . . not to mention me.”

  Ujiyasu, perhaps sensing the same danger I did, bowed and fell silent, a silence that was extended to the rest of us for several awkward moments. It was Kenji who got things moving again.

  “Ujiyasu-san is right in one respect. I would think a member of the Seiwa Genji or a family very closely allied to them must be at the forefront,” he said. “Such an alliance could pull the fangs of the Fujiwara clan for a generation, provided the emperor maintains control of the Daijou-kan,” he said.

  “The tradition of the sekkan-ke could not be erased overnight,” Princess Tagako said. “Yet a new precedent has already been set, with the sadaijin’s and his adopted son’s recent appointments. I think I must agree.”

  I was not so far removed from the center of imperial politics I could not recognize the extraordinary thing happening right before my eyes. While it was a tradition that women of the imperial house did not indulge in politics, I already knew, thanks to my friendship with the late Princess Teiko, the tradition separating them from the workings of power was more a gossamer veil than a stone wall. Yet here, in the guise of a harmless game, Princess Tagako was freely showing just how astute her grasp of the workings of the imperial court truly was. I was so bent on observing I forgot the game had another player. Princess Tagako quickly reminded me of the fact.

  “Lord Yamada, you have been silent so far. Who do you think I should marry?”

  “This calls for careful consideration,” I said.

  “Meaning you have no idea,” Kenji said.

  “Meaning I wish to present a reasonable choice,” I said, though of course Kenji was right. I struggled to come up with an answer for several seconds, but then I had an inspiration.

  “Minamoto no Kunida,” I said.

  “Lord Yoriyoshi’s third son? Why him?” Morofusa asked. “He is, pardon my saying, a rather undistinguished person.”

  “Precisely,” I said. “A member of Lord Yoriyoshi’s inner circle but not in line for the clan leadership. A simple, gentle person by most accounts, as yet unmarried and unattached. And with no great ambitions of his own.”

  Princess Tagako sounded fierce. “Lord Yamada, are you suggesting that I take this cypher of a person and mold him as a potter molds clay?”

  I smiled. “I am suggesting precisely that. This way it would not be important who you married so long as he had these qualities to start. What would be important is who he became.”

  I heard Tagako’s gentle laughter and knew she understood my joke. “Perhaps . . . perhaps if I were a younger woman with the time and energy, that would be a viable strategy indeed. As things stand, I must again say no.”

  “Then I am at a loss. Anyone?”

  Morofusa looked thoughtful. “There is Lord Toritomo of the Saga Genji.”

  There was a deep sigh from behind the kicho. “Was no one listening to me?”

  “I don’t understand,” Morofusa said. “He is of appropriate age and station.”

  “He has a wife,” Princess Tagako said, and there was an edge in her voice I recognized but apparently Morofusa did not. I tried to silence him, but I was not fast enough.

  “Of course, but he would be willing to put her aside at the emperor’s command—”

  “And why would I wish or accept this?” Tagako demanded. “No. I will not be the cause of someone else’s unhappiness, not even for the emperor. I would take the tonsure first.”

  We were all a little taken aback at Tagako’s outburst, but I think none of us so much as Tagako herself.

  “Forgive me . . . ” she started to say, but Kenji stepped in.

  “There is nothing to forgive,” he said, “Though I think you must now reconcile yourself to the life of a nun.”

  I could not see her face clearly, but I would have been wi
lling to swear she was smiling again.

  “Must I?” she asked. “Is there no other course open to me?”

  “Oh, absolutely not. We have just determined no one is suitable, so what choice do you have? The news of your betrothal was obviously an error.”

  Princess Tagako laughed then, and we all breathed a little easier. “If only this were true, as much for the welfare of my presumed husband as for myself. But I can declare no winner.”

  Neither could I. As for Tagako’s outburst, I think I understood it as well or even better than she did herself.

  There is obligation and duty, but there is also what one can and cannot bear. The two are not always in agreement.

  Many had discovered this to their sorrow, but I knew it better than most.

  “There is something you are not telling me,” Kenji said when we were alone again on the veranda of my mansion. “And if you say ‘there is much I am not telling you,’ I swear I will strike you.”

  “Are you certain? There would be consequences.”

  “Consequences be banned to hell! How did you know there had not been another attempt on Tagako-hime’s life?”

  Kenji was not a fool, but I already knew that or I would never have been able to tolerate his company all these years. Sometimes the more prominent question in my mind was how he had managed to tolerate mine.

  “Something I noticed, Kenji-san. The first time I believed a coincidence, but the second made me wonder. So I conducted a test.”

  “Which was?”

  “I stopped looking for Prince Kanemore,” I said.

  Kenji frowned. “You specifically told me you had not stopped looking for him.”

  “Oh, I have not really stopped. I have simply put the search on temporary abeyance, because the thing I noticed was this—every time I pressed the hunt, there was a new attempt on Tagako-hime’s life. The first was the shikigami in the garden, and the second when I found one lurking by the northern outbuildings. Both following rather blatantly obvious inquiries into his whereabouts. So I have done nothing since—no inquiries to people who should know, no attempts to visit the palace, nothing. In this time there have been no more attempts. None. I think Toshihide finds it maddening.”

  “You are saying the attempts were not serious?”

  “I cannot say for certain, and I certainly would take no chances. Yet I did notice something strange when we were actually able to witness events, as we were the second time—the shikigami had not seen me, and the way to the northern veranda and thus into the mansion was clear. It waited until the two patrolling bushi came into view and only then did it charge the building.”

  “That makes absolutely no sense,” Kenji said.

  “No, it does not. Unless its mission was not to kill the princess but rather to make it appear as if a real attempt was being made.”

  Kenji scowled. “Lord Yamada, you are not suggesting these many attempts on Her Highness are an elaborate hoax?”

  I sighed. “Kenji, were you not there in Kawachi? Osaka Bay? Did you not hear the ranting of the provincial governor? Of course those attempts were real, and likely a faction of the Fujiwara was behind them. We know this. My only quibble is with the last two.”

  “You do realize how mad this sounds? Why create fake assassination attempts close on the heels of real ones?”

  “Yes, I realize how strange this sounds. I have been considering this for some time, and the only conclusions I can draw are these: either someone wishes to distract me from looking for Prince Kanemore or to redirect my attention back to Princess Tagako, or both. Obviously I cannot devote myself to tracking His Highness down if Tagako-hime’s life hangs in the balance.”

  “So there have been no further attempts—real attempts, that is, since we arrived in the Capital?”

  “I cannot be certain, as I said, and I see no reason to lower our guard. But yes, I believe this to be true.”

  Kenji got up from the veranda and paced in the garden. I recognized the expression on his face and understood his mind was racing. He finally stopped and looked at me.

  “If you are right, then the person or persons who arranged the last two shikigami is not the same as the ones who desired her death.”

  “I would say so. We already knew the unfortunate Moritomo was not involved, and that someone—we are still not clear as to who—made certain we knew. I believe, as I said before, that this was due to one faction of the Fujiwara wishing to make it known they had no part in the earlier attempts. Which one? I have no idea.”

  Kenji frowned. “Regardless, whoever sent those last two shikigami, we can assume it was not the Fujiwara, and whoever did send them, did so for reasons other than doing harm to Princess Tagako.”

  “We can certainly assume they did not truly intend her harm, else the outcome might have been very different,” I said. “Which is why I am presumptuous enough to feel, perhaps, that these were done for my benefit.”

  “And not to convince Tagako-hime of the necessity of remaining where she is?”

  The thought had crossed my mind as well, but it did not hold up to scrutiny. “She is not happy about the situation and has made no pretense otherwise,” I admitted, “but Prince Kanemore ordered her to remain under guard, and I doubt there is anyone in the Capital she respects more. I do not blame her for being unhappy with the situation, but there is simply no chance of her disobeying him and so no need of . . . incentive.”

  Kenji finally nodded. “I was only looking for other possibilities. I must agree with you in seeing there are none. So where does this leave us?”

  “Rather like ladies of the court.”

  Kenji frowned. “I do not understand.”

  “When I was at court, sometimes the ladies-in-waiting would copy a piece of art on washi and cut it into little pieces of various sizes, then scramble them into a pile. The game was to reassemble those pieces back into the picture.”

  “I would not think this would be difficult.”

  “It is not—provided you know what the picture was ahead of time. Only the person copying the art would know.”

  “Oh. So you are saying we have many, perhaps even most, of the pieces. What we lack is the picture.”

  “Which makes me think,” I said, “what we really need is the artist.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Takamasa nervously presented himself in my reception hall as “requested” and kneeled in front of me.

  “Allow me to guess your results, Takamasa-san—you did not find out anything.”

  He bowed low. “Forgive me, my lord. The rumors of Princess Tagako’s impending marriage appear to be true . . . or certainly widespread. This has led to much speculation, but I am certain this is all it is. If anyone aside from the emperor and his inner circle knows who she is to marry, I cannot find them.”

  I left him enveloped in my silence for a few more moments. “Then one must assume the emperor has his reasons for keeping it a secret. And yet, is there not something of this situation which you find odd, Takamasa-san?”

  “Usually a royal union would be announced with more noise and ceremony,” Takamasa said. “That the groom has not come forward is also a bit strange.”

  “Oh, I think it goes beyond this. The marriage has not been announced at all, and yet everyone seems to know about it.”

  Takamasa frowned. “My lord?”

  “If the court is able to keep the identity of the groom a secret, how is it the impending marriage is even known? Why is one aspect more closely guarded than the imperial regalia, and yet another is common knowledge throughout the Capital?”

  “I admit it is curious, my lord, but one such as I would not dare to question the wisdom of the emperor.”

  I think, Takamasa-san, you just admitted more than you realize.

  “Nor would I, Takamasa-san. Yet I have been known to let my curiosity to get the best of me, from time to time. His Highness, Prince Kanemore, has often remarked upon it. No doubt, when I see him again, he will find this most a
musing.”

  Takamasa said nothing but merely bowed lower. I was certain it was to hide his face. I wondered what his expression might have told me, had I a chance to read it, but the act of hiding it told me something as well.

  “Again I must apologize for failing you, my lord. If there is nothing else you require of me, I have duties.”

  “Of course, and there is nothing to forgive. I thank you for your efforts. You may go.”

  Takamasa scurried away with undue haste. I glanced at the shoji screen just to the right of the dais. “Did you hear everything?”

  Kenji slid the panel aside. “Yes. The question is, did I hear what you heard?”

  “Takamasa knows the news of Princess Tagako’s impending marriage was deliberately made known by the emperor’s faction.”

  “Yes, but we already knew it was so. Was it not Princess Tagako who told us?”

  “True, but there is no way that Takamasa-san should know that nor anyone beyond Prince Kanemore’s compound. Tagako-hime’s servants are as isolated as she is, and I trust Morofusa and Ujiyasu’s discretion.”

  “And Toshihide? His men?”

  “Handpicked by Prince Kanemore? It goes without saying. No, the news of the marriage was deliberately released, just as the name of the groom was deliberately withheld, even from the bride. The question remains, as it has for nearly all aspects of this, why?”

  “So, once more, we’ve basically learned nothing.”

  “We learned Takamasa-san has connections within the emperor’s faction, so this places his information about the unfortunate Moritomo in a slightly different light.”

  Kenji looked puzzled. “If we assume he’s a spy for the emperor’s supporters and not the Fujiwara . . . why on earth would the emperor’s people want us to know Moritomo was not the onmyōji attacking Princess Tagako?”

  “For one thing, it would send me in a direction other than the Fujiwara.”

  “After all this, are you saying the Fujiwara were not responsible?”

  “For the last two attacks? I had already come to this conclusion. The first two . . . well, three, counting the governor’s original plan . . . they definitely were. If further pursuing the crimes of the Fujiwara should prove inconvenient for the emperor at this time, would it not be desirable to keep us at arm’s length from the Fujiwara as well?”