The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai

by Barbara Lazar

  My husband says less and less to me now that is not essential. I know he carries the burdens of war and the growing distance between us saddens me. I have not told him about the child.

  I called Misuki to me before I retired with Michimori. Now we squat near a flowing runnel from one of the many rivers so that our voices cannot carry.

  ‘I want to talk to you about this.’ I pat my middle.

  Misuki wears a grin.

  ‘I need your help. I am always watched, and time is short. I ask you to obtain herbs, like the ones we drank at the Village, but those used for the aftermath, rather than for prevention.’

  Her grin vanishes.

  ‘You understand what I am asking?’

  ‘Yes.’ She places her hand on mine and rubs it. ‘You have not talked with the father?’

  ‘No. We are at war, Michimori insists on my presence, and I shall need to travel.’ I rest my hand on my belly. ‘If this interferes with my husband’s requirements then it is an honourable course of action to avoid it. You know it is only a month. Therefore, I am considering taking the herbs.’

  ‘Not decided, then?’

  ‘No, my sweet. Not decided yet.’ I embrace her. ‘But please find them for me.’

  ‘I will, my lady . . . my friend.’

  We put our heads together and ponder the stream’s coursing.

  Twenty-second day of the Sixth Month

  The smaller force takes to the north through Noto, crosses to the central part of the Kurikara Pass and arrives at the eastern side of Mount Tonami. Through the mists the white flags of Rat fly on a hill below. Kingfisher agrees to rest with the advantage of elevation, especially since the Minamoto force appears to be considerable.

  The samurai water and tend their horses, then rest, or most do.

  Michimori maintains his qualms, and even Tokikazu cannot mollify him.

  I stay away from them and rest next to Akio, who recites sutras to me, probably content that I am at a distance from Tokikazu.

  Twenty-third day of the Sixth Month

  Today, at last, the enemy engages in a formal, civilised battle.

  First the whistling-gourd arrows, followed by an exchange of sharp-pointed arrows.

  Individual combats in small groups follow, and next our larger samurai, but not, thank the Goddess of Mercy, our commanders or Tokikazu. Mokuhasa and Sadakokai do well for themselves. Misuki may have permanently imprinted her fingers on my upper arms, watching. The last of the preliminaries include a selected one hundred men to engage in individual combat, from which the Taira, again, emerge triumphant.

  In the mountains there is no space between day and night. Night comes soon. Therefore both sides retire.

  Twenty-fourth day of the Sixth Month

  The feet of an enormous oni throb beneath me. Earthquake?

  I glimpse Michimori. His eyes are open. He leaps up. Heavy drums flog the earth – the final fury of the great God of War, flailing the ground, jarring us.

  I hear before I see it. The air is thick. The mountain shrieks from a long way, but comes closer – and closer. Louder. Coming nearer. What is it? Danger! I gather my weapons and find my horse.

  I smell it before I see it. Cattle. The odours of animals, the smell of a herd. The stench of panic – with the bittersweet smell of fire. Fire! Where is it? Men’s screeches and shouts.

  In the smoke, the dark, I can barely see them. Moving fire. Firesticks! On fire! The oxen are on fire! Flames and smoke coming from their horns! Hundreds of moving flames coming down the pass – towards me!

  BOOK 16

  I. Return

  We grabbed the horses and clambered on to them. Wails and animals’ shrieks plummeted over the black edges of the earth. Death cries boomed against the mountains, like sword strokes on stone. The smells of blood and torn flesh smothered the air. Horses’ hoofs trampled bodies and sucked at the mud made with their pulp.

  The darkness, screams and echoes lasted an aeon.

  That morning, when the sun emerged, few were left, a ravaged crop after a ferocious storm.

  The march home began.

  In retreat we travelled south into Kaga Province near Shinohara where, as Michimori’s stream of beleaguered and breathless messengers foretold, we met the Minamoto again. Another battle on the Second day of the Seventh Month. My stomach filled with ice and slaughter, my brush too hefty and bitter to write any more of battles.

  The Minamoto trailed and stalked us, like the animals they were, until we verged on the capital. Hare moved his troops towards Yamato, south-east of Heian-kyō, and Rat moved his directly towards the city.

  When the Taira Council met again in Rokuhara, a saddened Purple Grass received a consensus from others to beg help again from Mount Hiei. We needed their sōhei army, our allies from before.

  The messenger returned with bad news. Not only had our request been denied, but Mount Hiei was ready to receive Rat. Michimori had predicted this.

  No one met anyone else’s eyes. No matter how many torches were lit, the corridors subdued my disposition into a winter night with snow squalls.

  Despite Michimori’s vigorous protests, the other commanders opted to take a pilgrimage. Perhaps this one time Michimori was mistaken. The situation demanded prayers of intercession. The itinerary comprised three nearby shrines, none near Mount Hiei, because the sōhei there would make us vulnerable. Therefore they chose temples within a short distance of Rokuhara.

  I needed prayers. With all my learning and pursuit, I seemed no closer to locating Three Eyes, let alone the poisoner’s collaborators. No one could find the correct priest with a crooked nose and deformed soul. I prayed to the Goddess of Mercy to support me in the honourable retribution required. I prayed also for Tashiko’s spirit, so it would not haunt me or become a yurei.

  The servants made the preparations, and we departed. The end of spring, with the cooler mornings, improved many tempers. With the luxury of servants, this journey would demand less of us than our march north with the troops – but, surrounded by priests with their faces covered, I would be ill at ease.

  First day of Pilgrimage

  Plover, the priest I trusted, led us east to Yasaka-jinja Temple. I wore my armour to ride next to Michimori and the ever-faithful Tokikazu under Akio’s scrutiny. Our pace was not rushed, a snail at evening. Michimori and I knew the commanders would take time to establish any course of action. At every small shrine along the road, I paused, rinsed my mouth and washed my hands, praying for guidance. I had to locate Goro. Soon.

  We arrived at the temple for the evening meal. That night everyone prayed together in one group. A priest’s euphonious voice added to the pious atmosphere. During the recitation of sutras, they burned so much incense that my eyes throbbed. Misuki was surprised that the trees around our tent did not catch fire.

  Tokikazu probably overheard, because he tittered softly. Akio stifled a snort.

  Second day of Pilgrimage

  Last night the Gods spoke of the poisoner’s primary cohort – his face appeared in another of my vivid dreams. I wished to verify his identity, before I took my retribution.

  Akio and Misuki believed me. They had experienced my dreams.

  ‘Dreams cannot give you such information.’ Tokikazu’s cheeks sank with his grimace.

  Akio told his story, and Misuki added hers. She was so superstitious, though, that Tokikazu had told me he did not consider her credible.

  ‘Tashiko.’ My lips tangled over her name. ‘Tashiko was one of the most reasoned and reasonable people I know. She believed in my dreams. So strongly did she believe that she told me this story.

  ‘An honest fisherman named Chōkichi dreamed that if he walked along the river and stopped at the first large bridge, something good would happen. While waiting at the bridge, a tōfu maker came up and asked him what he was doing. He mocked Chōkichi’s reply, “I never take dreams seriously. I dreamed that gold was buried beneath the paulownia tree where this road crosses the next! Anyone who follow
s dreams is foolish!” The tōfu-maker walked on. Chōkichi went to the paulownia tree, found the gold and became wealthy.’

  Misuki and I would confirm the identity of the poisoner’s accomplice. That second day, and for the remainder of the pilgrimage, Misuki was to socialise with servants and gather information. I would no longer ride exclusively with Michimori but pass among the wives and concubines. My eyes craved to see the man who had strangled my sweet friend, and I had to know what he planned to do next. Tokikazu and Akio would protect me.

  Next we travelled to Kiyomizu-dera near Mount Ōtowa. Tokikazu, who continued to tell tales, shared this one:

  ‘Almost three hundred years ago, this temple was named by Enchin, a priest. He came to the Ōtowa waterfall nearby and met a hermit. This hermit had been waiting for Enchin so that he could abandon his hut and leave for the east. Enchin took the hermit’s place and set a statue of the Goddess of Mercy inside the hermit’s hut.’

  Hearing this, Akio said, ‘There is more to that story.’ We pulled our horses together to hear, because Akio’s voice could be soft.

  ‘Years later a courtly man came to this area to hunt. He wished to kill a deer, since deerskin would be a good-luck charm for his wife, near childbirth. However, after he killed the deer, he met Enchin, who reminded him of the evil in killing animals. So Tamuramaro, for that was his name, buried the deer. His wife gave birth safely. Much later when Tamuramaro became a general and conquered the north-east, he gave thanks to the Goddess of Mercy of Kiyomizu.’

  ‘I will show you Tamuramaro’s burial mound at the temple,’ Tokikazu offered, eyeing Akio.

  Akio whispered, ‘The grave groans whenever Heian-kyō is in danger.’

  After this we remained silent until we arrived at Kiyomizu-dera.

  There, near the burial mound, Misuki’s eyes enlarged until they filled her whole face. Her lips trembled; her body quivered. She chanted prayers for protection, moving her lips without sound, over and over. Her sensitive nature had absorbed the story. I required her to be alert, not rigid with dread, so I swept one arm around her waist and grasped her hand.

  Kiyomizu-dera comprised more than twelve buildings of varying sizes. The buildings were on several levels, of which each was constructed with stone walls and steps. Large groves of trees formed a perimeter close to them. With only budding leaves, they resembled spiders’ webs in a forgotten corner. Could this be another trap? Goro could be anywhere here.

  Misuki calmed at the temple, and I shared some intelligence. Hoichi, Mokuhasa’s cousin, had verified enemy sympathisers among us. He and Mokuhasa would flush them out.

  Late into the night we developed a plan with Plover.

  Michimori, his élite samurai and I met individually with the priests. Alone with one, I checked his nose. Straight. I relaxed a little.

  ‘There are certain sutras you must say now to keep a new life strong.’ He smiled at me.

  Afterwards, I pulled Misuki into a garden. We strolled to the middle and squatted face to face. ‘I have made a decision. There is no need to gather those herbs.’

  ‘Yes, Kozaishō.’ Misuki grinned and placed a hand on her own stomach. ‘I understand.’

  We embraced as only two dear friends can, weeping for new life and for death.

  Away from the city, the trees around Kiyomizu-dera were coming into leaf. With the new growth and superabundance of green, I thought of all that was growing and wrote this poem:

  Blossom time arrives

  Rain beating against the roof

  Green leaves burgeoning

  Tiny pale buds on bushes

  Who will the spring produce?

  Third day of Pilgrimage

  Everyone travelled to Hōshō Temple, the third one. Misuki snuggled next to my body as we moved on in the cool morning. I nestled back.

  At a more appropriate time, I promised myself, I would share my secret with Michimori. His reticence and taciturnity of late rendered me hesitant. I did not wish to add to his burdens of authority. I chose to wait until a more propitious time. When would that be? Who could I ask? Misuki said Akio, but I believed Tokikazu had Michimori’s ear.

  After we reached the gates, Tokikazu said, ‘More than a century ago, Hōshōji was built in the place where one of the old palaces stood.’ His eyes related his sentiments, without words, without touch, but I owed loyalty and love to Michimori.

  ‘The first building is the pagoda, which has eight sides, nine storeys, and is eighty-four jō high, like a painted mountain, rising tall out of the earth,’ Tokikazu finished his story. Akio trailed us, scowling at one of us, then the other.

  I settled into the tent just outside the temple. The Chief Priest and his ranking priests made elaborate greetings. As with those at previous temples, they remained in their heavily hooded robes. They assured us of private meetings with a priest. I was reassured, but decided I would have no meetings with any priest unless my dagger was with me.

  Before the meeting with the First Ranking Priest, another priest showed me, Misuki, and my serving girls their Amida statue and added:

  More than a hundred and fifty years ago, this is the statue to which Fujiwara no Michinaga tied his string. He died holding that string attached to the beloved Buddha to ease his entrance to Heaven.

  I remained at the Buddha’s feet for a time. My eyes dripped with the chance of revenge for Tashiko and Emi. In the moment’s perfection I also remembered Byōdōin and its colossal shining Amida Buddha.

  Fourth day of Pilgrimage

  Today I and other samurai arranged the snare’s jaw. Hoichi had discovered the names of two more men, besides the one in my dream. The Chief Priest and the two ranking priests agreed to have Plover disguise himself as a priest of Hōshōji. He could pray and behave like a Temple priest with his wide hood and cowl. He would meet with each person suspected of traitorous thoughts, actions and murder. I prayed Goro would be found and captured, too.

  Plover confirmed the names of the three men who did not speak with loyalty that night. Michimori, Tokikazu, Akio, the other samurai and I planned the rest. Plover would meet the men again and make his proposal for their attack.

  Here Misuki and I said and wrote the formula for protection:

  adande dandapati dandavarte dandakushale dandasudhare

  sudhare sudharapati buddhapashyane sarvadharanai-avartani

  sarvabhasyavartani su-avartani samghaparikshani

  samghanirghatani asamge samgapagate tri-adhvasamgatulya-arate-prapte

  sarvasamgasamatikrante sarvadharmasuparikshite

  sarvasattvarutakaushalyanugate simhavikridite

  Fifth day of Pilgrimage

  Misuki borrowed armour from Mokuhasa, since he was closest to her size. I wore mine under my clothes. Many guards, as well as Akio, Mokuhasa and Sadakokai, hid in our tent, away from the lamps.

  Michimori forbade Tokikazu to join us. ‘He is too valuable to lose.’

  Some small part of me was relieved that I would not be forced to lie next to Tokikazu.

  Yet Michimori had said this harshly, unlike his other directives. Was his true reasoning that he did not trust me, again? Or that he did not trust Tokikazu and me? Could the target of this distress lie somewhere else? Yet I was outraged at the implied distrust of Tokikazu with me, and desolate at the lost faith of my husband in my honour. My honour, which I most valued and for which I had fought over and over again. Where was I to find it except in blood?

  We pretended to sleep. Sadakokai feigned snores, and Misuki worked to stop herself from giggling. Fortunately, she had had much practice in this.

  We waited in the dark, listening to the night birds and the trees’ soughing, inhaling the different perfumes of the samurai.

  Then we heard it. The crunching of armour against armour. I squeezed Misuki’s hand. Fortunately she did not move or cry out. Waiting. The delicate soundlessness of a sword out of its scabbard.

  Someone jumped up and yelled. A sword glinted against the lamps. Akio came from behind. I hea
rd the clash of sword against armour and the grunt as someone fell. Akio’s grunt. Was he hurt? Dead?

  Sadakokai, who lay beside Misuki, leaned over, dagger drawn, and attacked with a throaty sound. I aimed my dagger and threw it into the third traitor. A dull thud and a shout as it gained its mark.

  Two betrayers in custody, two conspirators seriously wounded, and one dying, five in all. Soldiers sequestered them. One of the seriously wounded bore the face I had seen in my dream from the Second Day of this pilgrimage.

  Michimori granted Plover the rank of Chief Priest at one of our temples. Such munificence. I hoped all the traitors were found – our goal to remove the mice from the storehouse. Emi had been avenged, and I was pleased, for the moment.

  Servants had cleared the wreckage of my tent and readied it for sleep. Later that night, I heard groaning. Tamuramaro’s burial mound. Did this mean peril for Rokuhara? The capital? Both?

  The Chief Priest presented me with part of a sutra written on blue paper in thick silver and gold lettering, like the sun and the moon together. I placed it with the piece Chiba had given Tashiko in my crane document box from Michimori.

  At this time, it was right that old and new were together.

  I thanked Kannon-sama, the Goddess of Mercy, for my close ones’ and my safety.

  II. Enemies

  My sleep had been disrupted since Emi’s murder. I approached the priests’ practice field early, before most servants, in the Hour of the Tiger. Tokikazu and Akio were due in a short time, and I made my way to the pavilion to see if the morning rice had been delivered.

  I heard two men arrive and talk while I ate. I recognised the voices.

  ‘One last time, I warn you, Tokikazu.’ The anger in Akio’s voice sliced through the thick haze outside the pavilion.

  ‘Stop, Akio. My sentiments are not like cherry blossoms. They are trees. Pines. They will not change, regardless of the danger she is in.’

  ‘I spoke to her about her duty. And her honour.’

  ‘You truly thought you needed to?’