The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai

by Barbara Lazar

  ‘At the emperor’s next art contest?’

  ‘Too public. My garden. The Hour of the Monkey.’ At that time of night I could leave Michimori and return before he awakened.

  ‘As you wish, Kozaishō. But have you considered informing Michimori of this? He and others may be able to help.’

  ‘Please, dear Tokikazu, do not share our plans with others. The more people who know, the more danger for us.’

  ‘Us? For you.’

  ‘I wish to do this myself, for my own honour. How much honour is there if I allow someone else to fight my battle?’

  ‘I understand, Kozaishō.’

  ‘I know you do. Thank you.’ As I left, he combed his fingers through my hair, so alike to Michimori’s touch, that it chilled me.

  Three six-part folding screens, each made of split bamboo and set end to end, stretched the entire width of Grand Room. From there, I could view what happened without being seen. Michimori would be able to say truthfully that he had not seen me enter, since I had entered earlier. How clever he was, thinking around corners.

  The morning gathered my full attention, like a courtly dance with costumes and singing. Many people waited for audience. Reports of rice and taxes, and phrases of ‘noble loyalists’, ‘rebels’ and ‘locals’ filled the air. I was my husband’s second pair of eyes and ears.

  Circumstances often compelled our inner circle to speak of business in public, particularly during the Imperial Tournaments. Sadakokai presented an idea: a code, natural names for the Taira Clan. Akio suggested the Minamoto be named after the hours.

  I gave Sadakokai the name Paulownia, after the beautiful and useful tree; Mokuhasa, Sea Turtle for his broad back; Emi, Lotus; Tokikazu, Genji, because they were both philanderers; Akio, Oyster, for his reserve; and Misuki, Lumbering Badger, as before. Everyone refused to tell me my sobriquet, even when I probed.

  III. A Game of Go

  Tokikazu assumed more of my archery tutoring and Akio surrendered it graciously. He allowed his eyebrows to move down whenever Tokikazu was not looking, though.

  The Bowmen’s Wager on the Eighteenth day of the First Month concluded the new year celebrations. I joined the festival, despite my ongoing search for the poisoner. The emperor and his officers of the Inner and Middle Palace Guards attended in a great procession with many palanquins. I rode out into the country with the aristocracy, Tokikazu always at my elbow. Each ranked man wore bright courtly clothing. The flashing scarlets and crimsons, lapis lazulis and hydrangeas, peaches and oranges, all winter silks, paraded in a cacophony of brilliance across the archery fields.

  When I said to Misuki, ‘The male birds’ feathers are exhibited with great flamboyance,’ she giggled – softly, thank the Gods.

  The tiny mato, placed long distances away, provided the entertainment. Two teams competed against each other, wagers abounding. Michimori and I placed a small one with each other, a story against a kimono. Michimori proved implacable and wagered that his own team would lose, despite my teasing and calling him disloyal. He merely shrugged, with a grin as usual, palms open.

  I refused to wager against Tokikazu or Akio. I did not worry about the winner. Misuki and I played for geta. Emi wagered her handmade flowers against ices mixed with liana syrup, her new favourite, even in the brisk weather. Misuki and Sadakokai wagered also, but I chose to ignore them.

  The crisp sound of arrows arcing through the bitter air was exhilarating, but made my fingers itch to shoot. Everyone’s shouts and urgings competed with the arrows’ flight and the thunks of their impact on the mato.

  Losers were forced to drink a huge ‘cup of defeat’. The winners received their prizes: imperial shurikens, with the chrysanthemum emblem, silks, lacquerware and arrows. Then all proceeded to the banquet for which I was glad; the cold had given me an appetite. Beautiful men and women performed courtly dances while we feasted on mochi cakes, nuts and fish, pheasant and quail, sweet potatoes, aubergines, carrots and onions and sake, much sake. Michimori drank a great quantity, and his eyes wavered, but his feet did not. Neither did his hands, and alone later, he feasted on me.

  The untimely death of Emperor Takakura at the end of the first month was followed by Chancellor Kiyomori’s death in the third. A mourning bell rang through his family’s hearts – ear-splitting, public and painful. Michimori grieved, and I could not assuage his sorrow, although I surrounded him with song, dance, poetry and pleasuring.

  Prayers to say, places to visit and processions to watch interrupted my studies. Thank the Gods, Obāsan and the court ritualist told me what to wear, what to say, with whom to speak, and which colours I could and could not use in my robes. Black was now the colour for funerals. Although it was tedious, I learned.

  The restrained Third Month Third Day celebration compared poorly with what I remembered at Chiba’s shōen. No monks attended the celebration at Michimori’s. I remained alert, although I was not to be one of the dolls. My memories of Tashiko as a doll were easier to contemplate now, but I knew her spirit could not rest until I had completed my vengeance for her death. My chest tightened at this failure. Out of habit, out of desire to honour my beloved, I searched the crowds for the crooked nose, monk or not.

  The kuge watched paper dolls floating along garden streams. Later I received some as gifts and gave one to Misuki, Emi, and each of my new serving girls. Cooks created treats, hishi-mochi, diamond-shaped cakes coloured red, white, and green. I recalled how Tashiko explained, ‘Red chases evil spirits away, white for purity, green for health.’ Cooks also prepared sakura-mochi, bean paste-filled rice cakes with cherry leaves, which had been a favourite with Emi.

  The Buddhist monasteries blew wet snow on to this mountain of intrigue with their disfavour. Rumours spread that the Taira had angered the Gods with Kiyomori’s illness and death as proof.

  During the nights Michimori and I reviewed these affairs and strategic players over and over again. One: our strengths included the regent, the son-in-law of Michimori’s uncle, although he was young for such a post. Two: our followers were loyal. Three: our samurai had trained well, and previous battles had hardened them. Four: Michimori sent messengers to the monasteries to repair the damage to relationships. Five and Six: the Taira had defeated the Minamoto before. Twice.

  Tracing my face with his fingers, Michimori explained with a glint, ‘As in a game of Go, one should always have pieces that can move in numerous directions.’

  I remembered Tashiko teaching me the same. I no longer felt the deep bite of longing for her memory. I cared now for Michimori, observed his strengths and ignored his difficulties. I remembered what Obāsan shared: ‘Michimori has the Majestic Calm of a great leader and his essence is Pure Tranquillity. Depend on him for the clean action from a pure spirit without emotion.’ I did.

  The Taira Council met just days after the death of Michimori’s uncle, and I attended behind the screens. Munemori, named Purple Grass, because his decisions proved equivocal, claimed to be Kiyomori’s successor.

  Purple Grass shared Kiyomori’s last words: ‘Taira no Kiyomori was happy to have served the Imperial House.’

  Murmurings of agreement filled the room of the Taira Council.

  ‘Kiyomori spoke of his honour in attaining the highest rank a commoner could attain.’

  Mutterings again filled the room with nods now almost blowing a breeze. Some of the men displayed themselves like the mating crested ibis. I stifled a laugh, remembering Misuki’s giggles at the Bowman’s Wager and Michimori mocking his uncles and cousins. How dense the atmosphere had grown.

  ‘Did he have any requests?’ Shigehira, now called Oak, said.

  ‘Yes,’ Purple Grass said. ‘He wished for the head of Minamoto no Yoritomo. His final wish was to have Yoritomo’s head hung on his tomb.’

  This stopped all. The silence was as thick as a wild bamboo grove.

  Oak looked at all present. He sighed for everyone to hear. ‘It is clear we must prepare for war again.’

  So the
Clan did.

  After the meeting I trudged to my honourable lord’s apartments, not matching his brisk stride as I usually did. He left a trail of anger and bitterness, with his usual sandalwood scent. The fragrance and thoughts of war slowed my feet.

  Upon our arrival in the apartments, a servant removed Michimori’s outer formal garments. Although his favourite censer had been lit, he went out to the gardens. I trailed behind him. He paced along each path to the ponds and bridges. I did not attempt to keep up, but I did listen.

  Pounding one fist into another, Michimori ranted, ‘The Minamoto – especially Yoritomo! He is cunning. We should have named him Fox, not Go-Shirakawa.’

  He stormed back into his apartments. I followed again, at a safe distance. He reached into his hoeki no hō, jerked out a map and slammed it on to the table.

  ‘Look!’ He jabbed a finger at the map, prodding each specific point. ‘He is no longer here . . . or here . . . or there!’

  Unfamiliar with the terrain, I followed until he pointed to a place I recognised. The markings on this map created a flat picture for me. I grasped the topography. ‘Michimori,’ I said, almost under my breath.

  He raised his face from the map, and our eyes met.

  ‘Remember I am your Hunter’s Dog. I will be the samurai to sit behind any screen wherever and whenever you need me. I will be the samurai to fight beside you until your uncle’s last wish is fulfilled.’

  He unclenched his fists. Tears streamed in rivulets over those dark cheeks, and he lifted me to his face and sobbed into my neck. ‘I fear we are doomed without my uncle.’

  I wept also. The same dread had rung in me.

  Gion’s bell tolls

  The procession of

  Crested ibis

  Strut and parade by

  Driving us into downfall

  The air had warmed by the Fifth day of the Fifth Month. There had been no festivals recently because the nation remained in mourning, but now the Tango Festival had returned. I received many flowers, even from Emi, probably after prompting. With the beautiful irises, despite the impending conflict, I thought myself most fortunate. Some stalks were white, like fresh snow, some golden, like sunshine; the rest were as purple as the angry sea before an autumn storm.

  ‘We must cover the roofs,’ Misuki insisted. She obscured them with iris leaves and mugwort branches. She pushed irises and mugwort into my hair, attached them to my pillows, wrapped them around my scabbard and stuck them on Dragon Cloud’s saddle and throughout my palanquin.

  ‘You do not have time to become ill,’ Misuki chided. She clicked her tongue, reminding me of Mother, which stopped any arguments. I followed her instructions.

  All wives, concubines and ladies-in-waiting attended a shortened Flower-viewing Ceremony. Our sweet Emi did not remember the Tango Festival from last year or understand what the imperial tournaments were, yet she clapped and laughed and bobbed her head at the music, dancing and painting from Chinese models. She tired easily. Accordingly, we sent her back to our quarters with an appropriate escort.

  Most conversations in the fields concerned swordplay or poetry. Tokikazu wanted Minamoto no Yoshinaka to be called ‘Rat’.

  ‘N-N-No,’ Sadakokai disagreed. ‘I think he should be called “Hare” because he ran away when he approached our troops, just like that timid creature.’

  Akio and Michimori laughed.

  Then Michimori said, ‘Let us keep that.’

  Tokikazu’s lips merged into a flat line, and his precision was less than perfect on his next shot.

  IV. Pretence and Counsel

  Encouraged and supported by my companions, I lunged forward in my plans. Emi, Misuki and I could have died terrible deaths from the poisoned food. Those thoughts kicked my stomach like a heavy kemari ball.

  Late one day Tokikazu escorted me out of Grand Room, and gestured with our predetermined signal, meaning that the clothing was ready. I drank the infusion of herbs that would keep me awake. In the middle of that night I left Michimori and crept into the designated corridor. Akio and Sadakokai were mountains against the faint light. We held up lamps to see the magnificent cloth, examining it thoroughly to remember each detail. The thick damask lay across our hands, heavy with embroidered trees and cranes. Its blues would fit perfectly into nearly any layering of robes.

  I dared not make a sound, but I searched the eyes of Akio and Sadakokai, then bowed with gratitude. A robe of this cloth, given to Norahito as a gift by one of our own neutral priests, would bait my trap. I returned to Michimori’s side before he had stirred.

  On the practice field the next day, Tokikazu nodded approvingly. He said, in the formal way, ‘My lady, it is my sincere wish that you enjoy your trip to the Kitano Shrine.’

  The cue.

  Misuki and I shared an ox cart, without Emi or the serving girls, for the short excursion to Kitano Shrine and its red- and white-blossomed plum trees. I prayed to Tenjin, spirit of the scholar and poet Sugawara no Michizane, the God of Calligraphy. I required His help with my poor brush. On our return from the shrine, Sadakokai rode casually past.

  Behind the ox cart’s curtains I took off my robes and gave them to Misuki to wear. My armour had been easily concealed underneath my layered robes. I dropped away from the procession where Sadakokai waited with a horse. We rode out of range of others and hobbled our mounts behind a tight copse of trees near a stream and shadowed our prey, an ox cart with several men.

  Would this fight avenge us? Would Goro be there? Would I be able to kill him? I worked to calm my thrashing heart. Akio came up beside me and placed a hand on the back of my saddle. ‘My lady Kozaishō, you have allies here if you want or need them.’

  My eyes met his with thanks. ‘This is an act I need to perform alone. That is why I have not informed my lord Michimori.’

  Akio nodded, as did Sadakokai. I hoped they would not interfere. Where was Tokikazu? I did not risk asking Akio.

  The ox cart travelled up the stream bank away from the mud. Two men climbed out, perhaps for a drink of water, perhaps to stretch their legs, more likely to plot and scheme against the Taira Clan. I saw only their backs. One was a man I had never before set eyes on, but I had held his offence in my mind for a long time. The brocade of his robe was embroidered with trees and cranes. This was the poisoner, the traitor.

  Walking towards Norahito I called out my name, as I had in battles. He twisted towards me and placed his feet in the mud. He heaved his sword out of its scabbard – knuckles pale from gripping too tightly – eyes wide and dark. I had surprised him.

  I took a defensive stance. The second man ran away with a shriek. Norahito bellowed and attacked. My Priest’s Robe Stroke cut deeply through the traitor’s flesh from his neck to his belly. His sword dropped into the mud. Blood seeped through the gorgeous cloth across his chest, paying for his attempt on three women’s lives. Upright, he wavered, his eyes grew larger, gazing at me with malice.

  ‘Why poison me? Who was behind this?’

  His eyes glared. Swollen red. ‘Had many collaborators.’ Then he fell into the mire, face down.

  Remembering Tokikazu’s advice, I stood near, my sword ready to strike, my eyes focused for any movement. None. Yet I had wanted to question him, gain the information that would lead me to Three Eyes. Now this lead was gone, with a new cast of demons.

  When Sadakokai and Akio returned, they were calm. The blood spatter on their robes informed me that they had dispatched the other men.

  ‘Do we kill his servants to keep them quiet or can they be paid?’

  ‘We can p-p-pay them, my lady,’ Sadakokai said, and motioned to a bag of coins hanging at his waist.

  ‘Do I need to send my sword to the polisher?’ I wondered, as we rinsed our face and hands in the stream.

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ Akio said, ‘when we return to Rokuhara.’

  I had not realised I had spoken aloud. ‘Shall I?’

  ‘I know a polisher who will not talk.’

  ‘Will anyo
ne be waiting for us along our route home?’

  ‘There were only f-f-four, now gone.’

  ‘Thank you, honourable Akio, honourable Sadakokai.’ I bowed deeply to both men before mounting my horse.

  After I had stolen into my ox cart, we returned to Rokuhara. Later Akio rode beside the cart, and his eyes said I had taken the Right Action. I appreciated Akio and Sadakokai, but yearned for Tokikazu’s companionship.

  I pretended to have undergone the monthly defilement and a priest with the same reputation for silence as the polisher and the tailor cleansed me of the blood. Satisfied that I had protected those around me from at least this one traitor, I said special prayers for Tashiko, whom I had not safeguarded. I gave thanks and lit candles to the Buddha for my courage and His blessings, still wondering why Norahito had attempted to kill me and, besides Three Eyes, who else had been behind his action.

  Most days Michimori requested my presence in Grand Room. Afterwards we returned to his quarters, where we whispered about the issues, the strategies and the people. Sometimes we giggled like girls over the antics we had witnessed.

  ‘Tomorrow I hear the case of a wife who ran away and married another man. What do you say?’

  ‘If the woman had at least one year to respect this man, and did not, the second husband should keep her. Married more than five years, the marriage should be dissolved with no penalty. Less than five years, the new husband should compensate the first.’

  How wondrous to be asked my thoughts, to be cared for and considered. The Gods had truly listened to me on the day I had run from Three Eyes’ black horse. I never experienced hunger now or ate boiled-earth soup, although my tongue still remembered the taste. Thanks to you, Earth Gods! And now I had Michimori, a husband, protector and mentor. I studied his handsome face.

  Tokikazu continued my martial-arts training with Akio. A priest, skin wrinkled like last year’s peaches, continued my religious education. My lessons frequently included the music of his snoring.

  Michimori shared more of his burdens with me as he grew confident of my abilities and knowledge, and I became secure in his respect and trust, taking refreshment in his private rooms. One night he grabbed a paper and shook it in the air towards the west, in the direction of the palace. An unusual display of temper.