The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai (45 page)

He or she would point to Goro, my ultimate goal. I discussed my plans with Misuki and Obāsan.

‘When I confronted former Number Two Serving Girl, she named a cook and a priest as conspirators.’

‘My nephew, Ryo, works with the cook. If he visited the priest, he could discover the person for whom they both work.’

‘Yes,’ Misuki added. ‘Such a person must indeed be the evil-doer.’

Three days later, Obāsan whispered to me, ‘I arranged for Ryo to meet you on the field where you can be private. He suggested he disguise himself as a servant. He will be the one today to bring refreshments.’

‘How will I know him from the many true servants?’

Obāsan’s grin moved up to her eyes. ‘White hair, like me.’

Beyond his white hair, he bore no resemblance to Obāsan. He murmured the names of the cook and the priest to identify himself to me. ‘To whom do they answer?’ I asked, with a cup in front of my lips.

‘Norahito,’ he said, with his head still down. He had done his part, and I returned to the practice field. Michimori had included that name in the list of possible traitors.

I decided to create a unique set of robes. I left the selection of fabrics to Sadakokai and Tokikazu, since the former had access to the splendid fabrics used by
sum
ō
wrestlers, and I appreciated the latter’s efforts to assist me. Following the selection of fabrics, I would arrange for the robes to be sewn. I required a craftsman whose reputation and, most importantly, loyalty were flawless. Obāsan knew of the right seamstress. Fabric selected and a robe constructed then sent to our poisoner as a gift by a neutral but important figure: that was how I would trap the guilty one.

The political games of the emperor seemed to be beyond the Taira Clan, like a child grasping for fruit on a tall tree. The emperor’s regent sent to the city of Nara a messenger, who was subjected to grave insults, including the cutting off of his top knot. Monks painted a face and wrote ‘Kiyomori’s head’ on a wooden
kemari
ball. They kicked and beat it around a field. This was Lord Kiyomori! The grandfather of the emperor! How hideously disrespectful, especially for monks.

Rumours circulated that Kiyomori was ill, which made the chatter of bad fortune worse, if that were possible. Michimori and I visited his uncle on his sickbed. Kiyomori’s estate demonstrated perfection in every corner: the lily-covered pond, with its curved bridge, invited strolling; manicured trees and bushes reflected how Heaven might look; abundant flowers drew butterflies. When Michimori met me outside his uncle’s mansion, he told me that the Chief Constable of the Yamato Province would mediate. This situation with the monks demanded delicacy, and this constable had earned a reputation for diplomacy.

‘Yes,’ Michimori muttered the next night. ‘There can be no violence. My uncle shows admirable restraint, although the monks kicked the ball painted with his face.’

‘I have faith in your wisdom, but I wonder if you would exercise such restraint if it were
your
head.’

At this Michimori laughed for the first time since his uncle had become ill.

Later Michimori related the Yamato chief’s tale to me in a high voice, imitating the chief. ‘“I and my five hundred men arrived at South Gate of Kōfuku Temple. I received the usual greeting. The gate opened and a monk showed a small party of us to the gallery courtyard. With no warning, the monks attacked us from all sides.”’

‘How treacherous,’ I said to Michimori, trying not to laugh at his falsetto.

‘No. It was stupid.’ Michimori had returned to his normal voice. ‘The chief should not have trusted the monks.’

‘What happened?’

‘The monks captured sixty of the chief’s men and decapitated them.’

I gasped at the grave insult. ‘What action will your uncle take?’

‘He ordered thousands of soldiers to Nara. My cousin Shigehira is now Commander-in-Chief, and I . . . am deputy Commander.’

‘I am fearful for your new honour.’

‘Will you come?’

‘Yes, but please honour me by saying
sutra
s to protect yourself.’

My plans for the special robes were postponed. As we travelled to Nara and Kōfukuji, I shared a short story of monks’ contentiousness in the hope of decreasing some tension and anger.

Not so long ago, two priests disagreed on everything. One believed in one scripture, while the other believed in another. Their great rivalry culminated in a contest. Each priest was given one
ch
ō
of land to plant rice.

The first priest planted, irrigated and said prayers. The second seemingly did nothing. So while the one
ch
ō
of the first priest’s grew rapidly, only weeds grew in the second priest’s land. Nothing grew except a gourd tree, which completely covered the entire
ch
ō
. When the first priest harvested his
ch
ō
of rice, everyone noticed the second priest’s tree, heavy with large gourds. Before the first priest finished harvesting, someone cut down one of the second priest’s gourds. It contained more than five
t
ō
of rice. Indeed, each gourd contained at least five
t
ō
of rice. The second priest boasted of the strength of his scriptures.

With this reminder of their staunch rivalry, our troops journeyed south to the Nara temples. At Kōfuku Temple, Commander-in-Chief Shigehira divided the soldiers into two columns, led by himself and Michimori. We began at the Hour of the Hare, not quite dawn. The fighting commenced with whistling gourd arrows shot from both sides.

A pitiful experience. The Taira were mostly mounted with our bows ready. The
s
ō
hei
were all on foot. It was almost as easy as it was on the practice field, although there were more of them. Tokikazu and Akio stayed close to me, but there was no need: I fought well enough.

As taught, I waited to fight until someone announced his name to me, and then I declared my name. My long hair sailing in the crisp wind startled many monks, and they became easy opponents. I hoped to hear the traitors’ names, but I did not. In my mind, their names were all ‘Goro’ or ‘Norahito’.

The combat persisted for most of the day. Towards evening Shigehira ordered a fire to be lit near one of the temple’s gates. A monk with a crooked nose slunk near it at this time, but he disappeared into the throng before I could shoot. The hostilities had ceased, fortunately, because my concentration had shrunk to a fierce pounding fist between my eyes, commanding that I locate Goro.

The soldier who lit the fire near the gate also set fire to one of the small shelters. The morning’s stiff breeze hurled furious evening gusts, spreading the fire to the temple itself. The east and west chapels, as well as the pagodas, transformed into evil beauties, horrible red claws grasping for stars in the blackness. The night came awake, with the shrieks and screams of the confined monks and hundreds of assistants, apprentices, little boys. Their high-pitched wailing lacerated the stillness, like knives piercing flesh.

There was no opportunity to put out the fires because of the winds. By morning almost everyone and everything lay scorched in malodorous mounds, blackened stacks or shrivelled bundles. We marched in silence back to Rokuhara.

Because of the death of the previous emperor and national mourning, only meagre celebrations were planned for the approaching new year. In his apartments Michimori whispered, ‘This is an ominous way to end the year. What will the Gods have for us?’

The bramblings and now this.

II. Secret Door

Late one night after sunset, Tokikazu rushed past the guard into my gardens. In my ear, as soft as the purr of a kitten, he said, ‘Please forgive my intrusion, but Michimori requests your presence early tomorrow morning.’

I examined the tiny buds that had appeared on a branch, and remained silent, saying, ‘Yes,’ with only the flicker of an eye. His hand lingered on my shoulder, but then he departed.

Michimori required little sleep and rose early. Long before dawn Tokikazu safeguarded me through the corridors. ‘There is a tailor who has what you seek.’ He referred to the fabric for my plan.

‘Where and when?’

‘At the emperor’s next art contest?’

‘Too public. My garden. The Hour of the Monkey.’ At that time of night I could leave Michimori and return before he awakened.

‘As you wish, Kozaishō. But have you considered informing Michimori of this? He and others may be able to help.’

‘Please, dear Tokikazu, do not share our plans with others. The more people who know, the more danger for us.’

‘Us? For
you
.’

‘I wish to do this myself, for my own honour. How much honour is there if I allow someone else to fight my battle?’

‘I understand, Kozaishō.’

‘I know you do. Thank you.’ As I left, he combed his fingers through my hair, so alike to Michimori’s touch, that it chilled me.

Three six-part folding screens, each made of split bamboo and set end to end, stretched the entire width of Grand Room. From there, I could view what happened without being seen. Michimori would be able to say truthfully that he had not seen me enter, since I had entered earlier. How clever he was, thinking around corners.

The morning gathered my full attention, like a courtly dance with costumes and singing. Many people waited for audience. Reports of rice and taxes, and phrases of ‘noble loyalists’, ‘rebels’ and ‘locals’ filled the air. I was my husband’s second pair of eyes and ears.

Circumstances often compelled our inner circle to speak of business in public, particularly during the Imperial Tournaments. Sadakokai presented an idea: a code, natural names for the Taira Clan. Akio suggested the Minamoto be named after the hours.

I gave Sadakokai the name Paulownia, after the beautiful and useful tree; Mokuhasa, Sea Turtle for his broad back; Emi, Lotus; Tokikazu, Genji, because they were both philanderers; Akio, Oyster, for his reserve; and Misuki, Lumbering Badger, as before. Everyone refused to tell me my sobriquet, even when I probed.

III. A Game of
Go

Tokikazu assumed more of my archery tutoring and Akio surrendered it graciously. He allowed his eyebrows to move down whenever Tokikazu was not looking, though.

The Bowmen’s Wager on the Eighteenth day of the First Month concluded the new year celebrations. I joined the festival, despite my ongoing search for the poisoner. The emperor and his officers of the Inner and Middle Palace Guards attended in a great procession with many palanquins. I rode out into the country with the aristocracy, Tokikazu always at my elbow. Each ranked man wore bright courtly clothing. The flashing scarlets and crimsons, lapis lazulis and hydrangeas, peaches and oranges, all winter silks, paraded in a cacophony of brilliance across the archery fields.

When I said to Misuki, ‘The male birds’ feathers are exhibited with great flamboyance,’ she giggled – softly, thank the Gods.

The tiny
mato
, placed long distances away, provided the entertainment. Two teams competed against each other, wagers abounding. Michimori and I placed a small one with each other, a story against a kimono. Michimori proved implacable and wagered that his own team would lose, despite my teasing and calling him disloyal. He merely shrugged, with a grin as usual, palms open.

I refused to wager against Tokikazu or Akio. I did not worry about the winner. Misuki and I played for
geta
. Emi wagered her handmade flowers against ices mixed with liana syrup, her new favourite, even in the brisk weather. Misuki and Sadakokai wagered also, but I chose to ignore them.

The crisp sound of arrows arcing through the bitter air was exhilarating, but made my fingers itch to shoot. Everyone’s shouts and urgings competed with the arrows’ flight and the
thunks
of their impact on the
mato
.

Losers were forced to drink a huge ‘cup of defeat’. The winners received their prizes: imperial
shuriken
s, with the chrysanthemum emblem, silks, lacquerware and arrows. Then all proceeded to the banquet for which I was glad; the cold had given me an appetite. Beautiful men and women performed courtly dances while we feasted on
mochi
cakes, nuts and fish, pheasant and quail, sweet potatoes, aubergines, carrots and onions and
sake
, much
sake
. Michimori drank a great quantity, and his eyes wavered, but his feet did not. Neither did his hands, and alone later, he feasted on me.