by Lian Hearn
“Many parts of our country practice double-cropping now,” Takeo said. “It’s true, we have considerable stores of rice, as well as soybeans, barley, millet, and sesame. We have been blessed by good harvests for many years, and have been spared drought and famine.”
“You have produced a jewel. No wonder so many people are eyeing it covetously.”
Takeo inclined his head slightly. “I am the legal head of the Otori clan, and hold the Three Countries lawfully. My rule is just and blessed by Heaven. I do not speak of these things to boast, but to tell you that while I seek your support, and the favor of the Emperor—indeed, am prepared to submit to you as the Emperor’s general—it must be on conditions that protect my country and my heirs.”
“We’ll discuss all that later. First, let’s eat and drink.”
In keeping with the austere room, the food was delicate—the elegant seasonal dishes of the capital, each one offering an extraordinary experience to eye and tongue. Rice wine was also served, but Takeo tried to drink sparingly, knowing the negotiations might stretch on until nightfall. Both Okuda and Kono joined them for the meal, and the conversation was good-humored and wide-ranging, covering painting, architecture, the specialties of the Three Countries compared to those of the capital, poetry. Toward the end of the meal Okuda, who had drunk more than anyone else, expressed again his fervent admiration of the kirin.
“I long to see it with my own eyes,” Saga said, and seemingly impulsively leaped to his feet. “Let us go there now. It is a pleasant afternoon. We will look at the ground where our contest is to take place.” He took Takeo’s arm as they walked back to the main entrance and said confidentially, “And I must meet your champions. Lord Miyoshi will be one, I presume, and some other of your warriors.”
“The second will be Sugita Hiroshi. The third you have already met. It is my daughter, Lady Maruyama.”
Saga’s grip tightened as he halted; he pulled Takeo around so he could look him directly in the face. “So Lord Kono reported, but I assumed it was a jest.” He stared at Takeo, the hooded eyes piercing. Then he laughed abruptly, and lowered his voice further. “You intended to submit all along. The contest is only a formality for you? I see your reasoning—it saves you face.”
“I don’t want to mislead you,” Takeo replied. “It is far from a formality. I take it extremely seriously, as does my daughter. The stakes could not be higher.” But even as he spoke, he felt doubt stir in him. What had his trust in the Masters of the Way of the Houou led him into? He was afraid Saga would take Shigeko’s substitution as an insult and refuse to negotiate at all.
However, after a moment of surprised silence, the warlord laughed again. “It will make a very pretty spectacle. The beautiful Lady Maruyama competes against the most powerful lord of the Eight Islands.” He chuckled to himself as he released Takeo’s arm and strode along the veranda, calling out in a loud voice, “Bring my bow and arrows, Okuda. I want to show them to my rival.”
They waited under the deep eaves while Okuda went to the armory. He returned carrying the bow himself: It was over an arm-span long and lacquered in red and black. A retainer followed, holding the decorated quiver in which a bundle of tern arrows nestled. They were no less impressive, bound with gold-lacquered cord. Saga took one arrow from the quiver and held it out to show them, a hollow arrow of paulownia wood with a blunted end, fletched with white feathers.
“Heron’s feathers,” Saga said, running his finger very gently over them and glancing at Takeo, who was all too conscious of the heron crest of the Otori on the back of his robe.
“I hope Lord Otori does not take offense. Heron’s feathers give the best flight, I’ve found.”
He handed the arrow back to his retainer and took the bow from Okuda, stringing and flexing it with one effortless movement. “I believe it is almost as tall as Lady Maruyama,” he said. “Have you ever taken part in a dog hunt before?”
“No, we do not hunt dogs in the West,” she replied.
“It is a great sport. The dogs are so eager to join in! Really, one can’t help but pity them. Of course, we do not aim to kill them. You must declare where you intend to hit. I would like to hunt a lion or a tiger. That would be a more worthy quarry!
“Speaking of tigers,” he went on with his characteristic rapid shift, giving the bow back and slipping into his sandals at the step. “We must remember to talk about trade. You send ships to Shin and Tenjiku, I believe?”
Takeo nodded in assent.
“And you have received the southern barbarians? They are of particular interest to us.”
“We bring gifts from Tenjiku, Silla, Shin, and the Southern Isles for Lord Saga and for His Divine Majesty,” Takeo replied.
“Excellent, excellent!”
The palanquin bearers had been lounging in the shade outside the gate. Now they leaped to their feet and bowed humbly while their masters climbed inside their elegant boxes and were conveyed, with no great degree of comfort, to the mansion that had become the Otori residence. The heron banners fluttered above the gate and along the street. The main building was situated on the western side of a large compound; the eastern side was taken up with stables, where the Maruyama horses stamped and tossed their heads, and in front of these stables, in an enclosure of bamboo posts roofed on one side with thatch, stood the kirin. Around the gate, quite a large crowd had gathered to try to get a glimpse of the kirin—children had climbed into the trees, and one enterprising young man was hurrying up with a ladder.
Lord Saga was the only person in the group who had not seen the fabulous creature before. Everyone stared at him in gleeful anticipation. They were not disappointed. Even Saga, with all his enormous self-control, could not prevent a look of utter astonishment crossing his face.
“It is much taller than I thought,” he exclaimed. “It must be immensely strong, and swift.”
“It is very gentle,” Shigeko said, approaching the kirin. At that moment Hiroshi came from the stables leading Tenba, who was prancing and cavorting at the end of the rein.
“Lady Maruyama,” he exclaimed. “I did not expect you back so soon.” There was a moment of silence. Takeo noticed Hiroshi glance at Saga and go pale. Then the young man bowed as best he could while controlling the horse, and said awkwardly, “I have been riding Tenba.”
The kirin had begun to pace with excitement when it saw the three creatures it loved the most.
“I will put Tenba back with her,” Hiroshi said. “She misses him. After their separation she seems more attached to him than ever!”
Saga spoke to him as if he were a groom. “Bring the kirin out. I want to see it closer.”
“Certainly, Lord,” he replied with another deep bow, the color returning to his neck and cheeks.
“The horse is very good-looking,” Saga remarked as Hiroshi tied Tenba to cords strung from each side of the corner of the stall. “Spirited. And quite tall.”
“We have brought many horses from Maruyama as gifts,” Takeo told him. “They are bred and raised by Lady Maruyama and her senior retainer Lord Sugita Hiroshi.” As Hiroshi led the kirin out, the red silk cord in his hand, Takeo added, “This is Sugita.”
Saga gave a perfunctory nod to Hiroshi; his attention was totally taken up by the kirin. He reached out and stroked the fawn-patterned skin. “Softer than a woman!” he exclaimed. “Imagine having this spread on your floor or bed.” As if suddenly aware of the pained silence, he apologized, “Only after it died of old age, naturally.”
The kirin bent its long neck down to Shigeko and gently nuzzled her cheek.
“You are its favorite, I see,” Saga said, turning his admiring gaze onto her. “I congratulate you, Lord Otori. The Emperor will be dazzled by your present. Nothing like it has ever been seen before in the capital.”
The words were generous, but Takeo thought he heard envy and rancor in the other man’s voice. After inspecting the horses further, and presenting two mares and three stallions to Lord Saga, they returned to Sa
ga’s residence, not to the austere room where they had been before but to one of the flamboyantly decorated audience halls, where a dragon flew across one wall and a tiger prowled across another. Saga did not sit on the floor here, but on a carved wooden seat from Shin, almost like an Emperor himself. More of his retainers attended the meeting; Takeo was aware of their curiosity toward himself and in particular toward Shigeko. It was unusual for a woman to sit among men in this fashion and take part in their discussions of policy. He felt they were inclined to take offense at such a breach of custom; yet the lineage of Maruyama was even more ancient than that of Saga and his Eastern clan, or of any of his vassals—as ancient as the imperial family, who were descended through legendary empresses from the Sun Goddess herself.
First they discussed the ceremonies surrounding the dog hunt, the days of feasting and rituals, the Emperor’s procession, the rules of the contest itself. Two circles of rope were set up on the ground, one inside the other. In each round six dogs would be released, one at a time. The archer would gallop around the central ring; points were awarded as to where the dog was hit. It was a game of skill, not of butchery—severely wounded or dead dogs were considered undesirable. The dogs were white, so any blood showed immediately. Shigeko asked one or two technical questions—the width of the arena, whether there were any restrictions on the size of the bow or the arrows. Saga answered them precisely, humoring her and raising smiles among his retainers.
“And now we must proceed to the outcome,” he said affably. “If Lady Maruyama wins, what are your conditions, Lord Otori?”
“That the Emperor recognize myself and my wife as the lawful rulers of the Three Countries; that you support us and our heirs; that you command Arai Zenko to submit to us. In return we will swear allegiance to you and the Emperor, for the sake of the unity and peace of the Eight Islands. We will provide food, men, and horses for your future campaigns, and open our ports to you for trade. The peace and prosperity of the Three Countries depend on our system of government, and this must remain unchanged.”
“Apart from this last matter, which I would like to discuss with you further, that’s all perfectly acceptable to me,” Saga said, smiling confidently.
He is not troubled by any of my conditions, for he does not expect to have to consider them, Takeo reflected. “And Lord Saga’s conditions?” he inquired.
“That you retire immediately from public life, and hand over the Three Countries to Arai Zenko, who has already sworn allegiance to me and is the legal heir of his father, Arai Daiichi; that you either take your own life or go into exile on Sado Island; that your son is sent to me as a hostage; and that you give me your daughter in marriage.”
Both words and tone were insulting, and Takeo felt rage begin to simmer within him. He saw the expression on the men’s faces, their shared awareness of the power and lust of their overlord, the gratification it caused them, their pleasure at his humiliation.
Why did I come here? Better to die in battle than to submit to this. He sat without moving a muscle, aware that he had no way out and no other options: either he agreed to Saga’s proposals or he rejected them, fled the capital like a criminal, and prepared, if he and his companions lived long enough to make it back to the borders, for war.
“In either case,” Saga went on, “I believe Lady Maruyama would be a fine wife for me, and I ask you to consider my offer very carefully.”
“I heard of your recent loss, and I offer you my condolences,” Takeo said.
“My late wife was a good woman. She gave me four healthy children and looked after all my other children—I believe the number is ten or twelve now. I think a marriage between our families has a great deal to recommend it.”
All the pain that Takeo had felt when Kaede had been abducted from him swept up from his belly. It seemed outrageous that he should hand over his beloved daughter to this brutal man, older than himself, a man who already had several concubines, who would never treat her as a ruler in her own right, who simply wanted to own her. Yet this was the most powerful man in the Eight Islands; the honor and political advantage of such a marriage was huge. The offer had been made in public—the insult if he were to reject it outright would be no less public.
Shigeko sat with her eyes cast down, giving no indication of her reaction to the discussion.
Takeo said, “The honor is too great for us. My daughter is still very young, but I thank you from my heart. I would like to discuss the matter with my wife—Lord Saga may not be aware that she shares the government of the Three Countries equally with me—I am sure, like me, she will be overjoyed by such a union between us.”
“I would have liked to spare your wife’s life, since she has an infant child, but if she is your equal in government, she must also be your equal in death or exile,” Saga said with some irritation. “Let us say that if Lady Maruyama should win, she may return to discuss her marriage with her mother.”
Shigeko spoke for the first time. “I also have some conditions, if I may speak.”
Saga glanced at his men and smiled indulgently. “Let us hear them, Lady.”
“I ask Lord Saga to swear to preserve the female inheritance of the Maruyama. And as head of my clan, I will make my own choice in marriage, after consulting my senior retainers, as well as my father and my mother, as my liege lords. I am extremely grateful to Lord Saga for his generosity and the honor he bestows on me, but I cannot accept without the approval of my clan.”
She spoke with resolve, yet with great charm, making it hard for anyone to take offense. Saga bowed to her.
“I see I have a worthy opponent,” he declared, and a ripple of laughter ran through his men.
39
The new moon of the sixth month hung in the eastern sky behind a six-layered pagoda as they returned to their residence. After he had bathed, Takeo sent for Hiroshi and told him of the day’s discussions, leaving nothing out, and finishing with the marriage proposal.
Hiroshi listened in silence, saying only, “Of course it is not unexpected, and a great honor.”
“Yet he is such a man…” Takeo said very quietly. “She will follow your advice, and that of my wife and myself. We have to consider her future life as well as what is best for the Three Countries. I suppose there is a small chance that we will not have to make a decision immediately.” He sighed. “So much is resting on this contest—and everyone in Saga’s camp has already decided the outcome!”
“Matsuda Shingen himself advised you to come to Miyako, did he not? You must have faith in his judgment.”
“Yes, I must, and I do. Yet will Saga even abide by his own agreement? He is a man who hates to lose, and he is so confident of victory.”
“The whole city is gripped with excitement about you, and Lady Shigeko, and the kirin. Already pictures of the kirin are being sold, and her image is being woven into cloth and embroidered on robes. When Lady Shigeko wins this contest, as she will, you will be supported—and protected—by the delight of the people. They are already making up songs about it.”
“The people love, above all, tales of loss and tragedy,” Takeo replied. “When I am in exile on Sado Island, they will listen to my melancholy story and weep, and enjoy it!”
The door slid open and Shigeko came into the room, followed by Gemba, who was carrying a black lacquered box with designs of the houou inlaid in gold. Takeo watched his daughter look at Hiroshi, saw their eyes meet with an expression of such mutual affection and trust that his heart twisted with regret and pity. They are like a married couple already, he thought, tied by such deep bonds. He wished he could give his daughter to this young man for whom he had such a high regard, who had been unfailingly loyal to him since childhood, whom he knew to be intelligent and brave, and who loved her deeply. Yet all these things could not equal the status and authority of Saga Hideki.
Gemba interrupted his thoughts. “Takeo, we thought you would like to see Lady Shigeko’s weapons.” He placed the box on the floor and Shigeko knelt besi
de it to open it.
Takeo said uneasily, “It is very small—surely it cannot contain bow and arrows.”
“Well, it is small,” Gemba admitted. “But Shigeko is not very tall: She must have something she can handle.”
Shigeko took out a beautifully made miniature bow, a quiver, and then arrows, blunt-pointed and fletched with white and gold feathers.
“This is a joke?” Takeo said, his heart contracting in dread.
“Not at all, Father. Look, the arrows are fletched with houou feathers.”
“There are so many birds this spring that we were able to collect enough feathers,” Gemba explained. “They let them fall to the ground as if they offered them.”
“This toy would hardly hit a sparrow, much less a dog,” Takeo said.
“You don’t want us to hurt the dogs, Father,” Shigeko said, smiling. “We know how fond you are of them.”
“It is a dog hunt!” he exclaimed. “Its purpose is to hit as many dogs as you can, more than Saga!”
“They will be hit,” Gemba said. “But with these arrows there is no danger of hurting them.”
Takeo remembered the flame that had burned up his irritation, and tried to suppress his irritation now. “Magic tricks?”
“Rather more than that,” Gemba replied. “We will use the power of the Way of the Houou: the balance of male and female. As long as the balance is maintained, the power is invincible. It is this that holds the Three Countries together. You and your wife are the living symbols of it; your daughter is its outcome, its manifestation.”
He smiled reassuringly, as if he understood Takeo’s unspoken reservations. “The prosperity and contentment of which you are so rightly proud would not be possible without it. Lord Saga recognizes nothing of the power of the female element, and so he will be defeated.”
Later, as they bade each other good night, Gemba added, “By the way, don’t forget to offer Jato to the Emperor tomorrow.” Seeing Takeo’s look of astonishment, he went on, “It was requested, was it not, in Kono’s first message?”