Thousand Shrine Warrior

by Jessica Amanda Salmonson

  He might call for a maid or page to keep him warm, to cheer his night; but they always tried to make him perform in some manly way, even though he knew it didn’t interest them, and it didn’t interest him either.

  Then he thought he might see a priest and unburden himself. But the only priest was Kuro. Kuro had come to be more like a state minister or someone like that, and was no good at lifting the spirits of a pious chamberlain. “Me a pious man!” he said aloud, and laughed snidely at himself. “If I were more pious, maybe Priest Kuro could help me. As it stands, every time I see him, I feel worse.”

  He shook his head. Nothing could make him feel better.

  Ordinarily he would have sat thus two or three more hours before wearing out his brain and crawling off to sleep. But tonight was going to be different, filled with distractions; for Norifune was about to have some of his fears fully realized and worse fears invented for him.

  His room was unexpectedly invaded by a page other than the boy in the adjoining room. The page heralded a certain vassal, then departed. The warrior who hurried in afterward was sweaty and smelled of horse. He informed Norifune that a government agent had announced herself at the bridge and was being led to the castle by several men afoot.

  “Herself?” said Norifune, his weak chin vanishing altogether when he drew himself to full sitting posture. His coverlet fell away and he grabbed an edge of it in his fist. “A spy?”

  The vassal kneeling before the chamberlain replied, “Well, she’s been reported near here for several days without once announcing herself. Could have been spying. She’s a mendicant nun, but insists it is no disguise but her true calling.”

  “Is she of Kamakura?” asked Norifune, and the vassal shook his head, quoting what he had heard:

  “‘Defender of the Imperial House.’”

  “Well, that’s something at least,” said Norifune, somewhat relieved. So it might turn out to be a matter of etiquette and formal greetings—plus a cash token of appreciation, since the agent purported to be a mendicant. Quite a clever ploy to infer gifts bought silence! There would be some prestige for Lord Sato if things went well. A visit from someone connected with the Imperial house was something worthwhile, even if the agent’s connection were tangential. Norifune would have to trump up some reasonable-sounding reports for the agent to carry back to Heian-kyo; but since the government that mattered was in Kamakura, the whole thing could be chalked up to a formal affair, although rather late in the night for one.

  The vassal withdrew after leaving Norifune this news. Norifune’s personal page helped the chamberlain change into a smart pair of hakama trousers and put on his best overcoat with lovely tassels in front. He had just about convinced himself that this was not going to be a fretful encounter and that none of Lord Sato’s traditional positions need be compromised. He said, more to himself than to the page who helped him arrange his costume nicely, “A good excuse for a late-night celebration, with saké and many toasts to the Emperor and his agent!” He welcomed the prospects. “Gloomy night anyway. Needed something to happen, as long as it’s pleasant.”

  She no longer wore her incognito-hat, though she had not exactly given anyone her name; and she had not brought her alms-bag, which in any case had been damaged, but mainly was inappropriate for an official meeting with Lord Sato. She was not coming for his entertainment, after all; nor should she imply that a gift or reward was sought, whether for some religious advice or performance on the shakuhachi.

  She was accompanied by a half-dozen samurai, who had been among the night guard stationed at the main bridgehouse. They went half in front and half behind, four of them with lanterns hung on bamboo poles; and they made a ghostly procession upon the narrow road. To the sides of the road were open fields, vanishing distantly into darkness. The forests had been leveled long ago, for the sake of the castle’s construction and to insure no timber or hiding places for foe or would-be siege. In spring, the wild meadows would be beautifully flowered; presently, it was a wasteland of frozen, twisted stems, shrouded in deathly whiteness.

  The snow had grown light. There was an area of starlight toward the horizon, suggesting that the clouds might break for at least a while. The wind was a bracing nuisance. The bikuni’s long, loose sleeves whipped behind her.

  Lord Sato’s men treated her courteously but were clearly confused by her. They were under orders to deny pilgrims access to the castle, even to harrass them anywhere in the fief and province. But no samurai could deny an Emperor’s vassal the least desire. They were therefore uncertain how to proceed with matters.

  She had kept them ignorant of much, including what Emperor she happened to serve: the present puppet, or the one retired. They did not merit explanations, she maintained, taking on an air of elitism that she did not feel, but that was a common trait among those privileged to serve the Mikado.

  Had they balked, she might have deigned to inform them how she had been appointed the Emperor’s vassal while still a young woman, before the wars of Heian-kyo. It was more or less an honorific position, especially since the Shogun’s rise; and she had never in her life laid eyes upon His Augustness and only occasionally had been called upon to serve Him in one or another capacity. Thus it was only in a narrow sense that she dared consider herself the Emperor’s direct vassal.

  Naipon was a conservative nation and its oldest customs demanded rigid and respectful obeisance. By custom, her position was spiritually significant and more awe-inspiring than a more materially meaningful association with the Shogun’s government.

  As the announcement of her position set matters of prestige and etiquette into play, rather than problems of governmental interference with provincial independence, the nun dared hope her situation was not especially dangerous. A shogunate informer would be hated and feared; assassination was the best recourse. Though the Imperial family’s literal power was slight, the careers of lords had yet risen or fallen upon technicalities of propriety regarding the Mikado or His holy emissaries.

  Thus she felt the trepidation of Lord Sato’s men as they regarded her; as they considered the import and probity of her apparent station. They accompanied her along that dark road at a willfully slow pace, so that a rider would have the opportunity to arrive in advance and announce the situation. It could be that they would still attempt to do her injury. Other vassals might pour forth from the castle to attack, if the ban on pilgrims was to be upheld even in this extraordinary instance.

  She wished she could hurry the procession or demand a horse, but her situation was too uncertain. Yet every moment Shinji and Otane remained bound to the cross, they came nearer to death. Could they be strong a little while? By using wit rather than brutality to save them, it would extend their misery by many hours. At least they shared the same cross and, bound back to back, could rely on each other’s body warmth. But they had been dealt the added insult of inverted crucifixion, which was harder to endure. If one or the other grew faint or succumbed to drowsiness, neither might last until dawn.

  Atop the huge wall of granite blocks sat the castle. There was a gap in the granite wall which, from a distant view, appeared as a black stripe blurred by falling snow. In that gap was a long flight of stairs and a horse-slope. There were two pairs of gates: one at the bottom, one at the top. Presently the nun and her six attendants were on the long stretch of ground leading to that entrance.

  The road was no longer flanked by fields of snow, but by the half-iced moat. The soil and rocks from that enormous trough had gone to fill the area between the granite walls, so that the castle was really more like a fortress atop a large, artificial mesa.

  Halfway along that portion of the road that bridged the fields with the castle, two of the samurai, then the others, pointed or looked skyward. An umbrella was falling at a sharp angle. Hanging from it was a girl in court costume. What an extraordinary sight it was! In a moment, the girl struck the thin, fresh ice of the moat and vanished beneath the top layer of snowy slush.

  All t
hat remained adrift was the open umbrella. It had made the girl’s plunge weirdly slow. Now it marked the place of her almost certain death. The umbrella had carried her to shallows near the outer edge of the moat. If it had not broken her fall enough, then she would have died from impact against the stony bottom, not from extreme cold or drowning.

  The six samurai had watched the spectacle with a sort of detached wonder, but the bikuni had darted back along the earthen causeway to see if the girl could be saved. When it registered that their ward had fled, the samurai pursued, although they dared not act as though they were guards against her rather than an honor-escort. When the first two stopped alongside her, she gave each an encouraging shove. They went simultaneously into the frigid moat and heard the sharp command, “Save that girl!”

  The other four caught up by then. When the nun made as to shove them into the water also, two acted boldly and leapt on their own. The final pair held back, taking charge of the lanterns, against which snowflakes hissed. These two made some excuse about not getting in the way of the others, but the bikuni detected their fear that she might use the emergency to run off without their seeing where.

  She climbed part way down the wall of the causeway to receive the unconscious girl. The girl’s hand had to be pried loose of the umbrella. The four soaking samurai were shaking fiercely, their hands and faces instantly wrinkled by the shocking cold. The nun climbed onto the causeway, carrying the girl. The two dry samurai helped up the other four.

  “Bring her umbrella!” the bikuni insisted, remembering how, even unconscious, the young woman had clung to it. “It may have saved her life. She will want to enshrine it, unless she dies despite your brave efforts.”

  Her tone implied praise for the four reluctant rescuers, who could barely walk or breathe. The bikuni was inwardly amused that they should continue after her as though capable of a fight if it were required. Now it was she who led the party at a pace more in keeping with her own eagerness. By the time they reached the bottom of the long stairway, her hair was white with clinging flecks of powdery snow. The gates flung open at the approach. Additional samurai—chattering and flustered—joined the hurried procession upward to the castle. The girl in the bikuni’s arms stirred slightly, murmuring, “Snow-flake. Snowflake,” while nuzzling breasts. The moon appeared at their shoulders, just as they reached the upper gate. It peered from heaven as though curious.

  More guards appeared at the top of the long stair, where the gates were wide open. Everyone was solicitous rather than threatening, so the advance rider had obviously been assured that the ban on pilgrims was momentarily lifted. The four freezing samurai were wrapped in quilts and led away like invalids. “Reward those men!” the bikuni said hoarsely, as though she had such authority. Three padded kimono were brought for the girl. The numerous dithering vassals and servants averted their eyes as the bikuni swiftly changed the girl’s wet garments.

  She refused to hand over the maiden to anyone else’s care. She demanded the castle physician be roused and some reason for the near-tragedy be sought. “I won’t turn her over to you,” said the bikuni, “until I am satisfied nobody tried to kill her.”

  By now the maiden was half-conscious and looked into the stern bikuni’s face like a baby gazing at its mother. The bikuni was not in a good mood, but could not refrain from smiling at the confused young woman. “Echiko,” said the maiden. “Princess. Echi … ko.” Then she closed her eyes and slept. The bikuni called after a cluster of departing samurai, adding to their errands, “If this is Echiko’s lady-in-waiting, she will want to know about this!”

  Finding herself in a position to issue indignant mandates, the bikuni insisted she be led before Lord Sato at once, going so far as to refuse to leave her swords with anyone “in a hostile house.” This caused the castle men to stride the halls equally armed and leery.

  She took the sleeping girl in the wake of those vassals who were leading the way. The physician arrived simultaneously, his hakama trousers hastily tied, and things were quickly arranged in one open partition of the meeting-rooms. Quilts were laid out for the maiden’s repose; pots of charcoal were set near to keep her warm; water was heated for herbal remedies. The bikuni sat upon her knees nearby, refusing to let the patient be removed from her view. “I will stay in this adjoining room,” she said, and the door was left wide.

  The adjacent room was the main part of the meeting-chamber, in which there was something of a panic in progress as a result of the emergency. Lord Sato was not there; but the bikuni was introduced to Chamberlain Norifune. The chamberlain had evidentally prepared the room for a midnight feast, and done so at moment’s notice, thinking himself prepared for all events. Warm saké, mugwort rice cakes, bean jellies, dried persimmons, pickled fish and other foods were arranged on small, beautifully carved and lacquered trays. Pages and maids, gorgeously clad, were lined up near the food and drink, awaiting a signal to begin serving. But instead of an instant celebration, they were made witness to the aftermath of near-tragedy; and a stern-looking nun implied by her manner and few words that someone must have pushed the hapless girl off the walls of the castle. Also, the nun insisted Lord Sato appear at once. Such impudence! But it must be suffered if she served the Mikado.

  Clearly it was not going to be much of a party after all; and Norifune’s preparations were meaningless.

  “Lord Sato intends to greet you,” promised a befuddled Norifune. “Like myself, he was awake in any case, so it is no trouble to have a late visitor. But he wanted to get dressed especially well to receive you, and is still getting ready. Tell me, how is His Augustness the young Emperor?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” the bikuni said curtly.

  “Oh?” Norifune was taken aback. “Then you serve His Augustness-in-Retirement? It makes sense, as you have become a nun yourself. How is His Grace?”

  “I wouldn’t know that either.”

  Norifune was trying to be pleasant even in the face of someone rude; but her disinterest in the Mikado’s health suggested that she might have contrived this whole business in order to gain access to the castle in spite of Lord Sato’s ban.

  “Pardon me,” said Norifune, “but may I ask to see some credential or other? A letter with the Emperor’s seal or signature perhaps?”

  The bikuni had previously set her sword on the floor near her right side, which was not the side of readiness; and now she picked it up in her right hand as she stood, which was not a threatening motion since a sheathed sword was useless in the right hand unless the bearer was left-handed. All the same, several vassals’ hands eased toward the hilts of their own sheathed swords.

  “My credentials,” said the nun, drawing steel left-handed and offering it to Norifune, blade pointing upward and away from the chamberlain. He took the sword from her and, kneeling before a bright lamp, inspected the temper. His brows raised suddenly when he recognized the famous design, and he said with surprise and alarm,

  “The Sword of Okio!”

  “One of only two remaining in Naipon,” she affirmed. “The other has been retired to the same temple His Augustness Go-Temmu now makes His home.”

  As Norifune handed the sword back to its owner, Lord Ikida Sato appeared with two bodyguards at his personal entrance to the greeting-chamber. All heads went down except that of the nun and the two bodyguards. Lord Sato crossed the narrow stage at the head of the room and knelt beside an arm-table, striking an exaggerated and theatrical pose of self-importance.

  He was wearing garments more suited to an aristocrat than a warlord. He had powdered his face, darkened his teeth, reddened his lips, and made large round brow-smudges high on his forehead. His real eyebrows had been shaved. On his head sat an eboshi hat, tipped forward. He might be cousin to the Mikado dressed thus! It was quite audacious, though he might have learned such dress from his late wife of the royal line, or felt it was a good way to appear when His Augustness’ agent was present.

  It was customary not to speak until after a Lord gave perm
ission, but even before all the heads in the room were raised, the bikuni had remarked,

  “A crow plays the cormorant,” an adage which could be interpreted as, “A scruffy fellow thinks he’s elegant.” Lord Sato’s pose was spoiled by a pouty look and his cheeks puffed out; but Chamberlain Norifune went immediately to intervene.

  “That poor girl in the adjoining room fell from the castle walls. The nun suspects some evil goings-on and is upset about it. She serves Go-Temmu and it is a great honor for us to greet her, don’t you think so?”

  The bikuni saw how easily Lord Sato was placated. He seemed a bit of a clown to her and she bit her tongue sharply to keep from saying anything unnecessary. Rather, she changed her seated posture so that one knee was up, one hand upon the floor, and her gaze fixed boldly on Lord Sato. She got right to her point.

  “I am here with a peremptory request!” she exclaimed.

  “Ho?” said Lord Sato. It had been long since anyone had been peremptory with him. He appeared to like it more than patronizing attitudes and conciliations. As long as it did not turn out to be too difficult, he was interested.

  “There is one of Lady Echiko’s ladies-in-waiting, who is the only daughter of vassal Todawa. I wish her placed in my service.”