I was careful to speak the opposite of my feelings, softly and slowly. ‘We see no reason to blame the food on either of you. All you did was bring it. There are merely too many flavours for us to eat,’ I lied. ‘We wish to know who spiced it to an unacceptable level. Who was the cook? Who gave this food to you?’
I stared directly at each serving girl, and Number One suddenly blurted out all: which guard, which cook. She even reported which priest was in the cooking areas to check the special foods for the ceremonies.
Looking into Number Two’s eyes I said, ‘Now we understand. Misuki, give the cat to Number One Serving Girl.’ Next I directed Number One, ‘Hold this cat. Do not let it go.’
With the cat held down, it was Misuki who ordered Number Two Serving Girl: ‘Feed the food to your cat.’
For a few moments, Number Two’s eyes flashed hatred. She plucked her cat from Number One’s arms and ran. I knew she would not stand for harm to come to her beloved animal. Neither had I any wish to harm an innocent cat. We merely wanted her to confess, which she did by running. Tokikazu captured her as she left. I hoped her torture would lead to information that validated Number One Serving Girl’s.
After sending for Obāsan and the Woman-in-Charge-of-Rooms, I asked Number One to play the biwa for us while we dressed. At least I would know where and what she was doing. She played, not well. I said nothing about the unusually poor music.
When Obāsan arrived, I took her aside. ‘If Number Two Serving Girl confesses . . . and . . .’ I whispered the name of the priest and the cook in her ear. ‘Perhaps you know someone who could attend to those two. I would be particularly interested to know with whom they have conversed.’
Obāsan pressed her wrinkled lips together tightly. Then she said, ‘Ryo, my nephew. He works with that cook. Perhaps I shall visit him today.’
‘Number One Serving Girl must remain closely supervised. She must never be alone. She must be with you, me or Misuki on every task until we can be rid of her.’
‘My lady Kozaishō, I will search and find the best replacements for both girls. It may take a little time, but in the meantime I shall send you mine.’
‘Yours?’
‘My personal servants. It is better to be rid of Number One Serving Girl immediately. I will see to all.’
‘Yes . . . good. Thank you, Grandmother.’ As we were alone, I kissed her crinkled face.
After making further arrangements with Obāsan, Misuki and I had to leave for the General Confession Ceremonies. They took place in the palace enclosures and lasted for three consecutive nights. Emi, Misuki and I travelled in an ox cart. As usual, Obāsan’s wisdom had impressed me, and I shared it with Misuki.
‘I know we cannot trust the priests,’ Misuki confided quietly. I told her Obāsan was hunting for new serving girls.
‘I do not wish to see Number One’s head on a spike,’ I admitted. ‘This was not a wrongdoing on her own. However, I have requested that Number Two Serving Girl is not allowed to share her failed mission with others.’
Misuki put her hand on mine. ‘You are trying to remember “No Melon”. “One who begrudges a single slice, will lose all!”’
‘Number Two Serving Girl could not have been acting on her own.’
‘She might have allowed the poisoning of her cat. She did not. Perhaps there is some kindness in her heart despite her terrible deed.’ Her mouth quivered with terror. ‘Kozaishō, Rokuhara contains worse people than the sōhei you met coming here.’
‘Yes, for then we could see the enemy. Here they are invisible or identical or both. I have not yet found Three Eyes.’
I told Misuki of my intention to locate and take vengeance on the poisoner, and she agreed to assist me.
Misuki’s eyes filled with a combination of the worries and distress I felt myself.
‘It is more dangerous than at Hitomi’s. We must remain alert always, as with an unknown first-time client,’ I said.
Misuki squeezed my arm in agreement. ‘Should we speak to Lord Michimori about this?’
‘No. I need to seek my revenge in my own way. Michimori is too busy to be bothered with such trifles.’
‘Trifles?’ Her brows and mouth formed her deepest frown.
‘I shall consult with Tokikazu and Akio. I rely on their wisdom.’
‘Lord Michimori will not think this such a small thing. You risk his wrath.’
‘I will risk it.’
The ceremonies or their holiday screens did not hold my concentration. I do not know if Misuki enjoyed them. Although Emi delighted in the festivities, she whimpered at the Horrors of Hell painted on the screens.
I did my best to think of wrongs I had done during this last year. Happily, killing an innocent cat and a not-so-innocent girl were not among them. The next two nights of General Confession were easier, but not for Emi, who had nightmares. This was an inauspicious way in which to begin the new year.
I resolved to fight my own battles and find the true poisoner myself.
V. Samurai Training
Ironically, the safest place was field training, because it was open and because many different factions were represented there. No serious mischief could be done because there were witnesses. I felt more secure there than I did in my own quarters.
There was no break from study with my warrior training. Sun Tsu’s Art of War particularly interested Michimori. From ‘The Army and Defence’ in the Taihō Codes we memorised how many mounted men and foot soldiers there were in a division, how many in a regiment and in a battalion. While we both thought the Taihō Code was astoundingly dull, Sun Tsu was more difficult, since it was in Chinese. Misuki found it dreary; I thought it useful.
The practice exercises became complicated. Misuki did well in hand-to-hand techniques, but she found archery hard. Her tutor continued to remind her to ‘catch the wind with her hands’, but she never grasped this. When I had been a young girl it had proved difficult for me as well. The naginata remained unwieldy, due to my height, although I attempted it as often as I could tolerate the sniggers of those watching.
One day Akio came to the field with an odd-looking weapon. ‘It is a shobuzukuri naginata. Tokikazu suggested it because of the shorter handle and longer blades. See,’ he demonstrated, ‘it makes the slashing strokes smoother.’
I took time to become familiar with it, and then practised on straw men. The quick stroke upwards towards an unprotected groin would disable anyone.
‘Monks on horseback stand in the stirrups and whirl naginata around them,’ Tokikazu told me later.
‘Even with the shobuzukuri naginata, that would be a wide span.’ I eyed the distance between me and him. ‘The defence?’
He guffawed. ‘Stay far away and shoot him or his horse.’
On horseback, I hit the square-shaped targets and the grass hats swinging on posts. Dogs were also used as targets but I took care not to hit their faces with special padded arrows. I hit the strips of paper hanging from a stick as often as anyone, except Tokikazu, Akio, Sadakokai and Mokuhasa. They were the best, after Michimori.
Misuki did not care for horses. She worked elsewhere. Sadakokai named her ‘Lumbering Badger’, which stuck. Misuki disliked his gentle mockery, but her love for me compelled her to continue.
We both revelled in the stories Tokikazu narrated as we performed these exercises. I loved to hear his voice while I watched his muscles tighten. Once he told of how the Taira and Minamoto had become bitter enemies:
Taira no Masakado, Governor of Kuanto Province, was studying in Heian-kyō. He was offended by someone in court and started a revolt, but others of the Taira Clan stopped it. Problems between the clans began when Masakado was pardoned, not punished. The Minamoto never agreed to the pardon, and from that time the two clans were bitter enemies.
In other stories he told us of the great heroes of the Hōgen and Heiji Disturbances, primarily daring deeds of Michimori’s uncle, Kiyomori, who had put severed heads on spikes. I enjoyed imagining that.
Michimori often used The Art of War when we discussed strategies at night. Mokuhasa and Sadakokai spoke of the refinement of Michimori’s swordlessness. A samurai with swordlessness proved his prowess by fighting so rapidly and soundlessly, it was as if he wielded no sword at all.
BOOK 14
I. Temples
A few Taira commanders returned to Rokuhara, boasting of their latest victory over the Minamoto. Unfortunately the Minamoto had not retreated. Instead they scattered, like pheasants, making ensuing battles impossible.
In the corridors, on the watadono, in the gardens and on the practice field, arguments flew about whether or not there would be war. Misuki said she had discovered knowledge of the probable war. She had returned from one of her long rides with Sadakokai. ‘I saw them!’
‘Saw whom?’
‘The birds. Swarms of bramblings, atori. Sadakokai saw them too.’
‘Swarms?’
‘Yes. Hundreds and hundreds. They attacked each other among the branches for twigs to make nests. You know what they say?’
She did not wait for my answer.
‘When swarms of brambling begin their life-and-death struggle for twigs to roost, the noise, the competition and the ferocity are so great that to witness such an event presages war.’
‘Truly?’ Misuki nodded her head with great solemnity. ‘So it is recorded through history.’
I could hardly keep the corners of my mouth from lifting. Then I recalled her premonitions before Michimori rescued me from Hitomi.
‘Oh Kozaishō, much more than war. It is mappō. Our world is so defiled, there is almost no redemption. The bramblings prove it. We must concentrate on the thirty-two physical signs of Buddhahood. Invoke the name of Amida Buddha and meditate on his deathbed scene. Do this tonight and every morning. Promise!’
Despite this talk, I had my own war, and I swore to follow through on the promise to myself – to find and remove the poisoner.
He or she would point to Goro, my ultimate goal. I discussed my plans with Misuki and Obāsan.
‘When I confronted former Number Two Serving Girl, she named a cook and a priest as conspirators.’
‘My nephew, Ryo, works with the cook. If he visited the priest, he could discover the person for whom they both work.’
‘Yes,’ Misuki added. ‘Such a person must indeed be the evil-doer.’
Three days later, Obāsan whispered to me, ‘I arranged for Ryo to meet you on the field where you can be private. He suggested he disguise himself as a servant. He will be the one today to bring refreshments.’
‘How will I know him from the many true servants?’
Obāsan’s grin moved up to her eyes. ‘White hair, like me.’
Beyond his white hair, he bore no resemblance to Obāsan. He murmured the names of the cook and the priest to identify himself to me. ‘To whom do they answer?’ I asked, with a cup in front of my lips.
‘Norahito,’ he said, with his head still down. He had done his part, and I returned to the practice field. Michimori had included that name in the list of possible traitors.
I decided to create a unique set of robes. I left the selection of fabrics to Sadakokai and Tokikazu, since the former had access to the splendid fabrics used by sumō wrestlers, and I appreciated the latter’s efforts to assist me. Following the selection of fabrics, I would arrange for the robes to be sewn. I required a craftsman whose reputation and, most importantly, loyalty were flawless. Obāsan knew of the right seamstress. Fabric selected and a robe constructed then sent to our poisoner as a gift by a neutral but important figure: that was how I would trap the guilty one.
The political games of the emperor seemed to be beyond the Taira Clan, like a child grasping for fruit on a tall tree. The emperor’s regent sent to the city of Nara a messenger, who was subjected to grave insults, including the cutting off of his top knot. Monks painted a face and wrote ‘Kiyomori’s head’ on a wooden kemari ball. They kicked and beat it around a field. This was Lord Kiyomori! The grandfather of the emperor! How hideously disrespectful, especially for monks.
Rumours circulated that Kiyomori was ill, which made the chatter of bad fortune worse, if that were possible. Michimori and I visited his uncle on his sickbed. Kiyomori’s estate demonstrated perfection in every corner: the lily-covered pond, with its curved bridge, invited strolling; manicured trees and bushes reflected how Heaven might look; abundant flowers drew butterflies. When Michimori met me outside his uncle’s mansion, he told me that the Chief Constable of the Yamato Province would mediate. This situation with the monks demanded delicacy, and this constable had earned a reputation for diplomacy.
‘Yes,’ Michimori muttered the next night. ‘There can be no violence. My uncle shows admirable restraint, although the monks kicked the ball painted with his face.’
‘I have faith in your wisdom, but I wonder if you would exercise such restraint if it were your head.’
At this Michimori laughed for the first time since his uncle had become ill.
Later Michimori related the Yamato chief’s tale to me in a high voice, imitating the chief. ‘“I and my five hundred men arrived at South Gate of Kōfuku Temple. I received the usual greeting. The gate opened and a monk showed a small party of us to the gallery courtyard. With no warning, the monks attacked us from all sides.”’
‘How treacherous,’ I said to Michimori, trying not to laugh at his falsetto.
‘No. It was stupid.’ Michimori had returned to his normal voice. ‘The chief should not have trusted the monks.’
‘What happened?’
‘The monks captured sixty of the chief’s men and decapitated them.’
I gasped at the grave insult. ‘What action will your uncle take?’
‘He ordered thousands of soldiers to Nara. My cousin Shigehira is now Commander-in-Chief, and I . . . am deputy Commander.’
‘I am fearful for your new honour.’
‘Will you come?’
‘Yes, but please honour me by saying sutras to protect yourself.’
My plans for the special robes were postponed. As we travelled to Nara and Kōfukuji, I shared a short story of monks’ contentiousness in the hope of decreasing some tension and anger.
Not so long ago, two priests disagreed on everything. One believed in one scripture, while the other believed in another. Their great rivalry culminated in a contest. Each priest was given one chō of land to plant rice.
The first priest planted, irrigated and said prayers. The second seemingly did nothing. So while the one chō of the first priest’s grew rapidly, only weeds grew in the second priest’s land. Nothing grew except a gourd tree, which completely covered the entire chō. When the first priest harvested his chō of rice, everyone noticed the second priest’s tree, heavy with large gourds. Before the first priest finished harvesting, someone cut down one of the second priest’s gourds. It contained more than five tō of rice. Indeed, each gourd contained at least five tō of rice. The second priest boasted of the strength of his scriptures.
With this reminder of their staunch rivalry, our troops journeyed south to the Nara temples. At Kōfuku Temple, Commander-in-Chief Shigehira divided the soldiers into two columns, led by himself and Michimori. We began at the Hour of the Hare, not quite dawn. The fighting commenced with whistling gourd arrows shot from both sides.
A pitiful experience. The Taira were mostly mounted with our bows ready. The sōhei were all on foot. It was almost as easy as it was on the practice field, although there were more of them. Tokikazu and Akio stayed close to me, but there was no need: I fought well enough.
As taught, I waited to fight until someone announced his name to me, and then I declared my name. My long hair sailing in the crisp wind startled many monks, and they became easy opponents. I hoped to hear the traitors’ names, but I did not. In my mind, their names were all ‘Goro’ or ‘Norahito’.
The combat persisted for most of the day. Towards evening Shigehira ordered a fire to be lit near one o
f the temple’s gates. A monk with a crooked nose slunk near it at this time, but he disappeared into the throng before I could shoot. The hostilities had ceased, fortunately, because my concentration had shrunk to a fierce pounding fist between my eyes, commanding that I locate Goro.
The soldier who lit the fire near the gate also set fire to one of the small shelters. The morning’s stiff breeze hurled furious evening gusts, spreading the fire to the temple itself. The east and west chapels, as well as the pagodas, transformed into evil beauties, horrible red claws grasping for stars in the blackness. The night came awake, with the shrieks and screams of the confined monks and hundreds of assistants, apprentices, little boys. Their high-pitched wailing lacerated the stillness, like knives piercing flesh.
There was no opportunity to put out the fires because of the winds. By morning almost everyone and everything lay scorched in malodorous mounds, blackened stacks or shrivelled bundles. We marched in silence back to Rokuhara.
Because of the death of the previous emperor and national mourning, only meagre celebrations were planned for the approaching new year. In his apartments Michimori whispered, ‘This is an ominous way to end the year. What will the Gods have for us?’
The bramblings and now this.
II. Secret Door
Late one night after sunset, Tokikazu rushed past the guard into my gardens. In my ear, as soft as the purr of a kitten, he said, ‘Please forgive my intrusion, but Michimori requests your presence early tomorrow morning.’
I examined the tiny buds that had appeared on a branch, and remained silent, saying, ‘Yes,’ with only the flicker of an eye. His hand lingered on my shoulder, but then he departed.
Michimori required little sleep and rose early. Long before dawn Tokikazu safeguarded me through the corridors. ‘There is a tailor who has what you seek.’ He referred to the fabric for my plan.
‘Where and when?’
The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai Page 30