Cloud of Sparrows (25 page)

“I am relieved to see you uninjured.”

She returned his bow.

“I am honored that you have some small concern for such an unimportant person.”

“You are not unimportant,” Hidé said, “not to me.”

Though it was impossible to determine who was more surprised by his words, Hanako or Hidé himself, Hanako’s reaction was clearly more dramatic. Stunned by his directness, she teetered and almost dropped the tray. Only Hidé’s quick assistance prevented it. When he grabbed the tray, he inadvertently brushed against one of her hands. Unexpectedly, she felt herself softening at this, their first touch.

Hidé said, “Lord Genji has commanded me not to return until the morning. After breakfast.”

Hanako blushed, understanding his meaning. “Our lord is very generous,” she said, keeping her eyes demurely averted.

Hidé had so much to say, he couldn’t keep it all in any longer. “Hanako, we fought a battle against Lord Gaiho’s troops on the way to Mushindo Monastery. On the basis of my actions, Lord Genji has appointed me his chief bodyguard.”

“I am so happy for you,” Hanako said. “There is no doubt you will conduct yourself with great courage and honor.” She bowed low once again. “Please excuse me for a time. I must attend upon Lord Shigeru and Lord Saiki. I will return to you, my lord, as soon as my duties permit.”

It wasn’t until he was watching her walk away—not on the shortest route across the ruins, but properly where the interior corridor had been, as if nothing had changed—that Hidé realized she had referred to him as “my lord,” and that he was now entitled to be so called. Chief bodyguard was a landed rank. Though Lord Genji had not specified this, he surely would during his official New Year’s proclamations.

Hidé recalled the warmth he had felt when their hands had touched a few moments ago. It was the first physical contact they had ever had. He realized he had loved Hanako for a long time without knowing it. Yet Lord Genji knew. Once again, Hidé was moved to tears by the gratitude he felt. How blessed he was, they all were, to serve a prescient master.

He went to examine his room, to see if it still existed. He hoped at least a wall remained so that he and his bride would have some measure of privacy tonight.

Hanako tried to focus all her attention on her footing. The wreckage encouraged missteps. To clumsily trip and fall in view of her future husband on the eve of their first intimacy, could anything be more mortifying? But her efforts to concentrate on the here and now were in vain. Her thoughts drifted back a dozen years, to the sound of Lord Kiyori’s voice.

“Hanako.”

“My lord.” She fell to her knees and pressed her forehead to the ground. Her body shook with fear. Walking proudly, chin held high, she had been so pleased with herself for deflating that smug, handsome boy, she had failed to notice the presence of the Great Lord himself.

“Come with me.”

Shivering uncontrollably in the mild spring sunlight, she followed with downcast eyes, certain she was being led to her doom. Why else would the Great Lord deign to speak to her, an orphaned nobody in this wondrous palace only because of the kindness of old Zengen, the village priest?

Was the boy the lord’s relative, a favorite nephew, perhaps? Had she foolishly insulted the wrong person so soon after her arrival? Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. How ashamed she was for letting Zengen down. He had gone out of his way to help her after her parents’ deaths, and she had wasted the chance. All because of her pride. Had not Zengen told her time and time again, Do not think so highly of yourself, Hanako; the self is but an illusion. Yes, Abbot Zengen, she had said, time after time. But she hadn’t taken the lesson to heart, and now it was too late.

Ahead, she could hear the sound of samurai clashing in the practice compound. There was no doubt. She was about to be executed. How could she face her parents in the Pure Land? But no, she wouldn’t have to worry about that. She was not worthy of Amida Buddha’s salvation. She would descend to some hell realm instead, to work off her evil karma, with Kichi the hermaphrodite witch, and Gonbe the rapist, and Iso the leper. Perhaps in that terrible place she would become Kichi’s slave, and Iso’s wife.

“Eeeeehhhh!”

The fierce battle cries terrified her so much she couldn’t make herself look up, and walked right into Lord Kiyori, who had come to a halt just inside the compound. She recoiled fearfully, but he paid no attention to either the collision or her retreat.

“My lord!” The armored samurai who called out dropped to one knee and inclined his torso forty-five degrees, the abbreviated bow used in the field of battle. The others quickly followed suit.

“Continue,” Lord Kiyori said.

They rose and resumed their mock combat. At first, Hanako couldn’t understand why no one was dropping dead. Then she saw they were wielding swords of heavy black oak instead of steel.

“The other clans use bamboo shinai for their training,” Lord Kiyori said. “Shinai does no damage, and so is useless. In the hands of an accomplished swordsman, black oak can break bones, and sometimes kill, even when the blow lands on armor. We train this way so there is always an element of real danger. Training without danger is not training at all.” He looked down at her. “Why do we train?”

“Because you are samurai, my lord.”

“What is a samurai?”

She was surprised he was asking her questions instead of having her killed immediately. She was grateful for the delay. A wave of nausea washed over her at the thought of being dragged into Iso’s leprous, hellish nuptial bed.

“A warrior, my lord.”

“And when was the last war?”

“Over two hundred years ago, my lord.”

“Then what is the use of practicing these violent arts? We live in peace.”

“Because war may come at any time, my lord. Samurai must be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?”

There it was. They had come to it. The ritual was over. Now she would die. She bowed her head and said, “Prepared to kill, my lord,” and waited for the blade to sever her neck.

Then Lord Kiyori surprised her again. He said, “No, Hanako, that is not it. Killing doesn’t require so much practice. Observe carefully.”

She looked up. Men bashed at each other. That’s all she could see. At first. But as she continued to watch, she noticed a difference in the bearing of the samurai in the melee. Some moved with focused determination even as blows rained down on them. Others shifted and jumped about to avoid being hit, and were hit anyway. In the confusion of so many men fighting each other in so small a space, it was impossible to avoid blows, no matter what they did. If the swords had been steel, as they would be in a real battle, few of them would still be alive. And with that realization, the answer came to her.

She said, “They must be prepared to die, my lord.”

Lord Kiyori smiled at her. “Such is the fate of a samurai, Hanako. It is not easy to live with such constant fear.”

“But a true samurai has no fear, has he, my lord?” She could not imagine the Great Lord afraid of anything.

“Lack of fear is not the mark of courage. It is the mark of idiocy. Courage is knowing fear and overcoming it.” Lord Kiyori patted her head. “Sometimes, especially when he is young, a samurai will cover his fear with arrogance. A virtuous woman will forgive him. She will do whatever she can to make him stronger. She will do nothing to weaken him. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You may go.”

As soon as she left Lord Kiyori, she hurried to the kitchen. From there, she went back to the courtyard where she had exchanged words with the haughty young man. To her great relief, he was still there, sitting where she had left him. Was it her imagination, or were his shoulders discouragingly slumped? She felt a blush of shame heat her cheeks.

She went up to him, bowed, and knelt. “Your tea, sir samurai.”

“Oh,” the young samurai said, surprised and flustered. “Thank you.”

His shoulders, she thought, straightened as he took the cup. She was glad. She was very, very glad.

Shigeru and Saiki sat on two woven straw tatami mats placed in the center of where Shigeru’s main room had been. The original tatami had been blown to infinity by the cannonade. These were slightly damaged survivors from elsewhere. Shigeru was immobile, eyes hooded. He didn’t move when Hanako knelt where the doorway had been, bowed, and came forward as if entering a room.

Saiki politely acknowledged her. “I am happy to see you survived the attack, Hanako.”

“Thank you, lord.” Having heard the horrible rumors, she neared Shigeru with some trepidation, but displayed nothing beyond calm politeness as she poured his tea.

“Have you had a chance to speak with Hidé?” Saiki said.

“Yes, lord.”

“Then you know his good news. He has certainly come up in the world in a short time, hasn’t he?”

Hanako bowed low. “Undeservedly so, and only because of the great kindness of Lord Genji.” In her betrothed’s absence, the obligation to be humble fell upon her.

“Our lord is kind without a doubt. But if he has faith in Hidé, then so do I.” Saiki did not look at Shigeru, though these words were said more for his benefit than for Hanako’s. “Have you decided where you will want to establish your household?”

“No, lord. I have only just learned of his promotion.” In truth, she had already envisioned the empty officer’s quarters in the west section of the palace furnished modestly yet tastefully. There was just enough room for a nursery. Of course, since that part of the palace had been totally obliterated just hours earlier, the move would have to wait until the rebuilding was completed. A more important action would not wait. Since Hidé was to be chief bodyguard as well as her husband, she was more determined than ever to give him an heir as soon as possible.

“Then you have much to discuss with him. You need not attend upon us. Go join him. He will surely appreciate your presence more than we will.”

“Thank you, lord.” Hanako gratefully took her leave.

Saiki smiled. How sweet life is when you’re young and in love. Not even crisis and tragedy can diminish it. Perhaps they even provide a certain elevation of feelings. For a time, as he waited patiently for Shigeru to begin their discussion, he was lost in reverie, thinking of his own youth and days gone by.

“If he has faith in Hidé, then so do I,” Shigeru said, echoing Saiki’s words.

Saiki bowed. “I thought perhaps you were too deep in meditation to have heard me.”

“I was in meditation, Saiki, not in a coma.”

“I am glad of it, Lord Shigeru, for now is not a time for comas.”

“Agreed.” Shigeru sipped his tea. “The final phase of the Battle of Sekigahara is close at hand.”

Saiki considered the inner meaning of those words. For two hundred sixty-one years, the losers in that battle had persistently thought of it as inconclusive. Inconclusive, despite the utter collapse of the Western Regency, the total annihilation of the then-ruling Toyotomi clan, the deaths of nearly one hundred thousand warriors in a single day, and the seemingly permanent elevation of the Tokugawas to Shogun. Inconclusive, because of the absolute unwillingness of any living samurai to accept defeat. What was conclusive? Only death. When the matter was viewed dispassionately, it was clearly insane. It was, however, a viewpoint Saiki shared, despite his awareness of its irrationality. What else could he do? He, too, was a living samurai.

Saiki said, “I am filled with gratitude that it comes in my lifetime.” The depth of his emotions brought tears to his eyes. How blessed he was to be fated for war. His father and grandfather, far worthier warriors than he, had lived and died in peace. He was the one being given the opportunity to redeem the honor of his ancestors.

“I, too,” Shigeru said.

For several minutes, neither man said anything further. Saiki poured tea for Shigeru. Shigeru poured tea for Saiki.

The day was unseasonably mild for winter. Saiki contemplated the sky. Stratospheric winds, unfelt here below, brushed streaks of white against a pale blue field. In that one eternal moment, he felt the great vividness of life with every cell of his being.

Shigeru, for his part, recalled the feeling of drawing the ancestral swords. Saiki’s inopportune intervention had prevented him from testing their sharpness on that idiot, Sticky Eye Kawakami. Yet merely taking them from their scabbards was an enlightening experience. At the very instant he freed the blades, he knew he would be the last Okumichi to wield them in combat. He didn’t know when that would be. He couldn’t see that clearly. Nor did he know the identity of his ultimate opponent, or the outcome of that combat. All he knew was that he would be the last, and this brought a great heaviness to his heart.

In the debilitating peace that followed Sekigahara, the Tokugawa Shogun had decreed a compilation of the condition and ownership of the realm’s most famous swords, called
meito
. The swords in Shigeru’s possession, the Sparrow’s Talons, were not included because the Lord of Akaoka at the time, Uenomatsu, had refused to participate in any Tokugawa-sponsored project involving swords, the soul of the samurai. Uenomatsu’s statement on the subject, duly recorded in the secret scrolls of the clan, was known to every Okumichi.