Grass for His Pillow (27 page)

I bowed before him, overwhelmed by gratitude. He waved me away.

“We are just repaying our debt to you.”

“No,” I said. “I am forever in your debt. I will do anything you tell me. I am completely at your service.”

I was at the door when he called out, “Maybe there is one thing.”

Turning, I fell to my knees. “Anything!”

“Grow your hair!” he said, laughing.

I could still hear him chuckling as I followed Norio back to the
guest room. He was carrying the chest for me, but I held Jato. The wind had dropped a little; the snow had grown wetter and heavier. It dulled sound, blanketing the mountain, shutting off the temple from the world.

In the room the bedding had already been laid out. I thanked Norio and bade him good night. Two lamps lit the room. I drew Jato from its scabbard and gazed on the blade, thinking of the fire that had forged it into this combination of delicacy, strength, and lethal sharpness. The folds in the steel gave it a beautiful wavelike pattern. It was Shigeru's gift to me, along with my name and my life. I held the sword in both hands and went through the ancient movements he had taught me in Hagi.

Jato sang to me of blood and war.

K
aede came back from afar, out of a red landscape, lapped by fire and blood. She had seen terrifying images during her fever; now she opened her eyes on the familiar light and shade of her parents' house. Often, when she had been a hostage with the Noguchi, she had had this dream of waking at home, only to wake properly a few moments later to the reality of life in the castle. She lay still now, eyes closed, waiting for the second waking, aware of something pricking her in the lower part of her belly and wondering why she should dream of the smell of mugwort.

“She has returned to us!” The man's voice, a stranger's, startled her. She felt a hand on her brow and knew it was Shizuka's, remembering feeling it there many times before, when its firm, cool shape was the only thing that came between her mind and the terrors that assailed her. It seemed to be all she could remember. Something had happened to her, but her mind shied away from thinking about
it. The movement reminded her of falling. She must have fallen from Takeo's horse, Raku, the little gray horse he had given her; yes, she had fallen, and she had lost his child.

Her eyes filled with tears. She knew she was not thinking clearly, but she knew the child was gone. She felt Shizuka's hand move and then it returned holding a cloth, slightly warmed, to wipe her face.

“Lady!” Shizuka said. “Lady Kaede.”

Kaede tried to move her own hand, but it seemed to be immobilized, and something pricked her there too.

“Don't try to move,” Shizuka said. “Lord Fujiwara's physician, Dr. Ishida, has been treating you. You are going to get well now. Don't cry, lady!”

“It's normal,” she heard the physician say. “Those who come close to death always weep when they are brought back, whether from joy or sorrow I've never been able to tell.”

Kaede herself did not know. The tears flowed, and when they finally stopped, she fell asleep.

For several days she slept, woke, ate a little, and slept again. Then she slept less but lay with her eyes closed, listening to the household around her. She heard Hana's voice regaining its confidence, Ai's gentle tone, Shizuka singing and scolding Hana, who had taken to following her around like a shadow, trying to please her. It was a house of women—the men stayed away—women who were aware they had come close to the brink of disaster, were still not out of danger, but so far had survived. Autumn slowly turned to winter.

The only man was the physician, who stayed in the guest
pavilion and visited her every day. He was small and deft, with long-fingered hands and a quiet voice. Kaede came to trust him, sensing that he did not judge her. He did not think her good or bad—indeed, he did not think in such terms at all. He only wanted to see her recover.

He used techniques he had learned on the mainland: needles of gold and silver, a paste of mugwort leaves burned on the skin, and teas brewed from willow bark. He was the first person she had ever met who had traveled there. Sometimes she lay and listened to his voice telling Hana stories of the animals he had seen, huge whales in the sea and bears and tigers on land.

When she was able to get up and walk outside, it was Dr. Ishida who suggested that a ceremony should be held for the lost child. Kaede was carried to the temple in a palanquin, and she knelt for a long time before the shrine to Jizo, the one who looks after the water children who die before they are born. She grieved for the child whose moment of life had been so brief, conceived and extinguished in the midst of violence. Yet, it had been a child begun in love.

I will never forget you,
she promised in her heart, and prayed it would have a safer passage next time. She felt its spirit was now safe until it began the journey of life again. She made the same prayer for Shigeru's child, realizing she was the only person apart from Shizuka who knew of its brief moment of existence. The tears flowed again, but when she returned home she did indeed feel that a weight had been lifted from her.

“Now you must take up life again,” Dr. Ishida told her. “You are young: You will marry and have other children.”

“I think I am destined not to marry,” Kaede replied.

He smiled, assuming she was joking. Of course, she thought, it was a joke. Women in her position, of her rank, always married, or rather
were married
to whoever seemed to offer the most advantageous alliance. But such marriages were arranged by fathers, or clan leaders, or other overlords, and she seemed suddenly to be free of all these. Her father was dead, as were most of his senior retainers. The Seishuu clan, to which both the Maruyama and Shirakawa families belonged, was fully occupied with the turmoil that had followed the downfall of the Tohan and the sudden unexpected rise of Arai Daiichi. Who was there to tell her what to do? Was it Arai now? Should she be making a formal alliance with him, recognizing him as her overlord? And what were the advantages or disadvantages of such a move?

“You have grown very serious,” he said. “May I ask what is occupying your mind? You must try not to worry.”

“I have to decide what to do,” she said.

“I suggest doing nothing until you are stronger. Winter is nearly upon us. You must rest, eat well, and be very careful not to take a chill.”

And I must consolidate my lands, contact Sugita Haruki at Maruyama, and tell him I mean to take up my inheritance, and find money and food for my men,
she thought, but did not speak this aloud to Ishida.

As she grew stronger she began to restore the house before the snows began. Everything was washed, new matting laid, screens repaired, tiles and shingles replaced. The garden was tended again. She had little money to pay for anything, but she found men to work for her on the promise of payment in the spring, and every
day she learned more of how a look or a tone of voice won her their devoted service.

She moved into her father's rooms, where at last she had unrestricted access to his books. She read and practiced writing for hours at a time, until Shizuka, fearing for her health, brought Hana to distract her. Then Kaede played with her sister, teaching her to read and use the brush like a man. Under Shizuka's strict care Hana had lost some of her wildness. She was as hungry for learning as Kaede.

“We should both have been born boys,” Kaede sighed.

“Father would have been proud of us, then,” Hana said. Her tongue was pressed against her upper teeth as she concentrated on the characters.

Kaede did not reply. She never spoke of her father and tried not to think about him. Indeed, she could no longer clearly distinguish between what had actually happened when he died and the feverish imaginings of her illness. She did not question Shizuka and Kondo, afraid of their replies. She had been to the temple, performed the rites of mourning, and ordered a fine stone to be carved for his grave, but she still feared his ghost, which had hovered at the edge of the redness of her fever. Though she clung to the thought
I have done nothing wrong,
she could not remember him without a twinge of shame, which she masked with anger.

He will be more helpful to me dead than alive,
she decided, and let it be known that she was reverting to the name of Shirakawa, since it had been her father's will that she should be his heir and should remain in the family home. When Shoji returned to the house after the period of mourning and began to go through the records and
accounts with her, she thought she detected some disapproval in his attitude, but the accounts were in such a terrible state that she used her anger to cow him. It was hard to believe affairs had been allowed to deteriorate so badly. It seemed impossible to secure enough food for the men she had already and their families, let alone any others she might hope to employ. It was her main source of anxiety.

With Kondo she went though the armor and weapons and gave instructions for repairs to be done and replacements ordered. She came to rely more and more on his experience and judgment. He suggested she should reestablish the domain's borders, to prevent encroachment and to maintain the warriors' fighting skills. She agreed, knowing instinctively she had to keep the men occupied and interested. For the first time she found herself grateful for the years in the castle, for she realized how much she had learned about warriors and weapons. From then on, Kondo often rode out with five or six men, making use of these expeditions to bring back information too.

She told Kondo and Shizuka to let pieces of information fall among the men: an alliance with Arai, the campaign for Maruyama in the spring, the possibility of advancement and wealth.

She saw nothing of Lord Fujiwara, though he sent gifts: quail, dried persimmons, wine, and warm quilted clothes. Ishida returned to the nobleman's residence, and she knew the doctor would inform him of her progress, and certainly would not dare keep any secrets from him. She did not want to meet Fujiwara. It was shameful to have deceived him, and she regretted the loss of his regard for her, but she was also relieved not to see him face-to-face. His intense
interest in her unnerved and repelled her, as much as his white skin and cormorant eyes.

“He is a useful ally,” Shizuka told her. They were in the garden, overseeing the replacement of the crushed stone lantern. It was a cool clear day, of rare sunshine.

Kaede was watching a pair of ibis in the rice fields beyond the gate. Their pale pink winter plumage glowed against the bare earth.

“He's been very kind to me,” she said. “I know I owe my life to him, through Dr. Ishida. But it would not trouble me if I never saw him again.”

The ibis followed each other through the pools that had collected in the corner of the fields, their curved bills stirring up the muddy water.

“Anyway,” she added, “I am flawed for him now. He will despise me more than ever.”

Shizuka had said nothing of the nobleman's desire to marry Kaede, and she did not mention it now.

“You must make some decisions,” she said quietly. “Otherwise we will all starve before spring.”

“I am reluctant to approach anyone,” Kaede said. “I must not seem like a supplicant, desperate and needy. I know I must go to Arai eventually, but I think it can wait till winter is over.”

“I believe the birds will begin to gather before then,” Shizuka said. “Arai will send someone to you, I expect.”

“And what about you, Shizuka?” Kaede said. The pillar was in position and the new lantern in place. Tonight she would place a lamp in it; it would look beautiful in the frosty garden under the
clear sky. “What will you do? I don't suppose you will stay with me forever, will you? You must have other concerns. What about your sons? You must long to see them. And what are your commands from the Tribe?”

“Nothing more at the moment than to continue looking after your interests,” Shizuka replied.

“Would they have taken the child as they took Takeo?” Kaede said, and then immediately added, “Oh, don't answer me, there is no point now.” She felt the tears threaten and pressed her lips firmly together. She was silent for a few moments and then went on, “I suppose you keep them informed of my actions and decisions too?”

“I send messages from time to time to my uncle—when I thought you were close to death, for instance. And I would tell him of any new developments: if you were to decide to marry again, that sort of thing.”

“I won't be doing that.” As the afternoon light began to fade, the pink plumage of the ibis glowed more deeply. It was very still. Now that the workmen had finished, the garden seemed more silent than ever. And in the silence she heard again the promise of the White Goddess:
Be patient.

I will marry no one but him,
she vowed again.
I will be patient.

It was the last day of sunshine. The weather became damp and raw. A few days later Kondo returned from one of his patrols in a rainstorm. Dismounting rapidly, he called to the women in the house, “There are strangers on the road: Lord Arai's men, five or six, and horses.”

Kaede told him to assemble as many men as possible and give the impression there were many more at call.

“Tell the women to prepare food,” she said to Shizuka. “
Everything we have, make it lavish. We must seem to be prospering. Help me change my clothes, and bring my sisters. Then you must stay out of sight.”

She put on the most elegant robe that Fujiwara had given her, remembering as she always did the day she had promised it to Hana.

She will get it when it fits her,
she thought,
and I swear I will be there to see her wear it.

Hana and Ai entered the room, Hana chattering excitedly and jumping up and down to keep warm. Ayame followed, carrying a brazier. Kaede winced when she saw how full of charcoal it was: They would shiver more when Arai's men were gone.

“Who is coming?” Ai asked nervously. Ever since their father's death and Kaede's illness she had become more fragile, as if the combined shocks had weakened her.

“Arai's men. We have to make a good impression. That's why I've borrowed Hana's robe back again.”

“Don't get it dirty, Older Sister,” Hana said, groaning as Ayame began to comb out her hair. Usually she wore it tied back. Loose, it was longer than she was tall.