The Sword That Cut the Burning Grass (11 page)

“Never mind,” said Reigen. “I must leave you now. Go into Nagoya and find out whatever you can at Lord Ponzu’s castle. I will see you tomorrow or the following day at the Atsuta Shrine.”

Seikei nodded. “But what are you going to do?”

He was already talking to Reigen’s back. Showing surprising agility, the old man had left the road and was hopping from rock to rock on a muddy slope that led downhill toward Lake Biwa. Seikei couldn’t imagine how he planned to get to Nagoya that way, but Reigen had shown that he was resourceful. Seikei’s new sword was testimony to that.

He and Hato passed through the checkpoint and not long afterward reached Nagoya. It was not difficult to find Lord Ponzu’s castle. Five stories high, it towered over the southern part of the city. Guards in each of its four towers glared down at those who approached.

“It will be almost impossible to rescue him from there,” Seikei said.

“You’ve already forgotten my plan,” said Hato. “I will offer these ginkgo nuts at the kitchen. If the boy you are seeking likes porridge all that much, the cooks will certainly need the nuts. Then I’ll ask for a job. I’m really very useful, even though
you
may not have noticed.”

“Supposing that works—” Seikei started to say.

“I’ll find out where they’re keeping this boy. What’s his name?”

Seikei hesitated. “The last time I saw him, his name was Risu.”

“But he might be in disguise now,” she added. “I understand. Well, I’ll sneak in to see him, and tell him that the emperor is waiting for him. Then we’ll slip away—”

“No, no, no,” Seikei said. “Don’t tell him that.”

“Why not?”

“Well . . . suppose he doesn’t believe you.”

“Even if he doesn’t,” Hato said, “it ought to make him curious!”

Seikei nodded. “Yes, I’m very sure that it would. But you must remember your pledge to me. Don’t tell anyone I am the emperor.”

“Oh, all right,” she said, “but you’re making things unnecessarily difficult.”

“I have my reasons,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t ask what they were.

“Well, I’ll find
some
way to get him out. Then will you be waiting right here?”

“No.” Seikei strongly doubted that Hato would even get to see the emperor, much less take him out of the castle. But perhaps she could find out something useful. “Listen,” he said. “Tomorrow at this same time, whether you have Risu or not, come outside. I’ll try to meet you.”

“And if you aren’t here?”

“Go to the Atsuta Shrine. Reigen promised to be there.”

“All right.” She bowed very low before Seikei, making him look around to check if people were watching.

“Don’t do that again,” he said.

“I promise,” she replied. “Until we’re safely back at your palace.”

“Yes,” Seikei said. “At the palace that will be fine. Not elsewhere.”

“Good-bye, chrysanthemum boy,” Hato said with a wink. She turned and headed for the castle gate. Seikei breathed a sigh of relief, and set out to find the shrine.

People were happy to give him directions, but it was unnecessary. All he had to do was follow the crowd of pilgrims who were carrying gifts they had brought as offerings. It was like stepping into a river of people that would sweep him to his destination.

Before he even came in sight of the shrine, however, the crowd stopped moving. People milled about and soon the entire street was filled from one side to the other. Everyone was asking what the reason for the delay was.

Then the answer came, creating a buzz through the crowd like a swarm of bees, growing louder each moment. “They’ve closed the shrine! The priests have closed the shrine.” At first this was said with dismay, but then a growing anger crept into the voices. Most of these people had come long distances at a great sacrifice. For some, it was the only such journey they would make in a lifetime. To be stopped just short of their goal was almost intolerable.

Now new questions began circulating: “Why is the shrine closed?”

“How long will it be closed? Who can tell us?”

“Well, young sir, I never expected to see you again.”

Seikei had been listening to the questions from the crowd, and it took a moment before he realized the comment was directed at him.

He turned, and there stood the ronin Takanori. Now, however, he wore a crisp new silk kimono, decorated with the hollyhock crest worn by the shogun’s men. Seikei’s first emotion was anger, because here was the person who had caused him all this trouble.

Then he realized he should beware, for if Takanori was here, Yabuta must be nearby. He searched the crowd with his eyes, but saw only groups of upset pilgrims.

“Looking for someone?” asked Takanori.

“The person you serve now,” Seikei replied.

“I serve the shogun now,” Takanori said with an air of self-righteousness that grated on Seikei. “As you once did.”

“I still serve him,” Seikei said angrily.

“Not wisely or well,” Takanori commented. “After Yabuta found that you did not commit seppuku, he told me you would come here. I did not think you were that foolish, but Yabuta knew. He knows everything.”

“So he sent you to find me?” Seikei said. “What are you supposed to do now?” His hand went to the hilt of his sword and this time he had the satisfaction of finding it. Though it was only a wooden one, he was willing to test it against Takanori’s steel blades.

Takanori saw the gesture. He said, “I could kill you right here if I wished.” He was merely pointing out something Seikei should know, not threatening him.

“Why haven’t you, then?” asked Seikei.

“Yabuta wishes to meet you, to talk with you,” Takanori replied.

“What about?”

“Come with me and you will find out.”

“I’m not going to commit seppuku,” said Seikei. “No matter what he says.”

“He knows that,” said Takanori.

Seikei considered the offer. Right now it seemed impossible for him to get to the shrine. Reigen probably wouldn’t be there yet anyway. Seikei had to admit he was curious about what Yabuta had to say. But would Yabuta want information? He would certainly use torture if he thought it would loosen Seikei’s tongue.

On the other hand, Seikei knew nothing important that Yabuta didn’t already know. Yabuta wouldn’t know or care about Hato. Or Reigen? What did Seikei know about Reigen? Really, nothing except that he had taken the sacred mirror from the palace. There was no need to tell Yabuta about that.

Seikei decided. “Do we have far to go?” he asked Takanori.

They didn’t. Takanori led him down a side street to avoid the crowds. As far as Seikei could tell, they circled through the city to a place on the other side of the shrine. Takanori took him to a nondescript shop with no sign to indicate what it sold. As soon as they stepped onto the porch, however, the door opened. Another samurai stood there, looking as if he would swiftly turn away anyone who did not belong.

Takanori and Seikei passed the guard’s inspection and entered. They were in an empty hallway, so bleak that the building almost seemed deserted. Then Seikei caught a whiff of something in the air. He took a second breath. There was no doubt what it was.

Blood. Dried now, not fresh. But there had been bloodshed in this place at some time past.

Seikei could feel fear starting to overcome him, and he fought against it. If the next blood to be spilled here was his, he would bear it as a samurai should. For death, he reminded himself, comes to all. The only way to meet it is with courage.

17

A ROBE FOR SEIKEI

T
akanori took Seikei to a small room in the rear of the building. The smell was stronger here. If anyone screamed, Seikei thought, they would not be heard by passersby in the street.

When the door opened, there sat Yabuta. His eyes still blazed with the hatred he had shown for Seikei earlier, but he spoke in a softer tone. “I am glad you have chosen to come here willingly,” he said. “Sit down.”

Seikei sat on a mat facing him. Takanori slid the door shut, but stood behind Seikei as if Yabuta might need him.

“My curiosity was aroused when I learned that you had chosen to live, not die,” Yabuta began. “I wondered what your plans were.” He looked at Seikei’s obi, where only a wooden sword now rested. “Without your swords,” Yabuta pointed out, “you cannot return to Edo. Judge Ooka would be dishonored.”

“I intend to regain my swords,” Seikei said. “I left them in a safe place,” he added, wondering if Yabuta knew exactly what he had done with them.

“That may be possible,” said Yabuta. “It may even be possible for me to forget all the errors you committed on the way to Kyoto.” Seikei realized that Yabuta was attempting to be friendly. The effect was chilling, as if a snake were trying to act like a playful dog.

“How could that happen?” asked Seikei.

“Tell me what brings you to Nagoya,” Yabuta replied, as though he wanted to show Seikei the sights.

Seikei hesitated. “You must know already,” he said, “since you sent Takanori to meet me.”

“The shrine,” Yabuta said, nodding. “And if you were going to the shrine, you must know what it contains.”

“The Kusanagi,” Seikei replied. “The sword that cut the burning grass.”

Yabuta smiled, as if he and Seikei thought alike. “Very good. I suppose it was you who left the Kusanagi scroll at the Buddhist monastery on the Tokaido Road.”

Seikei nodded. He decided it was wise not to mention Hato’s role.

“Do you know how important that sword is?” asked Yabuta.

Seikei considered the question carefully. “I know it is very powerful.”

“So what did you think you would do if you reached the shrine?” Yabuta asked. “Take the sword? No one but the priests is even permitted to see it.”

“I . . . I didn’t set out to get the sword,” Seikei said. “I hoped to find the emperor here.”

Yabuta looked slightly disappointed. “You don’t understand the significance of the sword at all, do you?” he asked Seikei.

No, Seikei admitted to himself. Reigen had told him that the sword could make Risu become the emperor. But how?

Yabuta leaned closer, as if he were confiding an important secret. “Lord Ponzu has taken the emperor,” he explained. “I have only a few men at my disposal, not enough to storm Lord Ponzu’s castle and rescue him.” He looked at Seikei. “Do you know what this means?”

Seikei shook his head.

“If Lord Ponzu succeeds in putting the sword into the emperor’s hands, he can overthrow the shogun.”

“Because he who possesses the sword is all-powerful?” said Seikei, remembering what Reigen had told him.

“Because people will
believe
the legend of the sword,” Yabuta said. “If they believe the emperor cannot be defeated, they will not resist him.”

“I . . . I don’t think the emperor even
wants
to overthrow the shogun,” said Seikei.

“Of course he doesn’t,” Yabuta hissed, as if Seikei were a particularly slow-witted schoolboy. “He is only Lord Ponzu’s tool. Lord Ponzu is the one with ambition. He wishes to put himself in the place of the shogun. Afterward, he will allow the emperor to resume his useless existence as a figurehead living in luxury.”

Seikei nodded slowly, though he still had misgivings. Risu had said very definitely that he wasn’t the emperor, and if he wanted to live in luxury, why did he leave the palace in the first place?

“You can redeem yourself,” said Yabuta in a silky tone.

Seikei was wary. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing difficult at all,” Yabuta replied. “And in return, I will forget all the disgraceful things you have done. You can return to Edo, just as if you had fulfilled your mission.”

Seikei waited. He suspected Yabuta would not be so generous unless he wanted Seikei to do something exceedingly dangerous or hideously dishonorable.

“I want you to take the sword,” said Yabuta.

“But you just said no one but the priests—” Seikei protested.

“The priests, and, naturally, the emperor,” Yabuta said smoothly.

“Then how can I—oh, no,” Seikei said, understanding what Yabuta intended.

“Fortunately, few people ever
see
the emperor,” Yabuta said, ignoring Seikei’s look. “I happen to know that he has never visited the Atsuta Shrine. The priests who administer the shrine know only that he is a boy about your age.”

“Even so,” said Seikei, “they must have some way to . . . to determine if . . .” He trailed off, because Yabuta had signaled Takanori to bring someone else into the room. Seikei turned and saw the Ministers of the Right and Left. Their haughty looks had disappeared. Now they eyed Yabuta fearfully, as if he were some sort of dangerous beast that had broken into the house.

“Do you have the robe the emperor wears when he makes a formal visit to a shrine?” Yabuta asked them.

“We brought the one he wore when he went to Ise,” the Minister of the Right said.

“But of course the Atsuta Shrine is less important,” said the Minister of the Left. “So that robe may be regarded as—”

“Put the robe on him,” said Yabuta, pointing to Seikei.

The two ministers looked as if he had told them to dress a dog in the emperor’s robe. One of them tried to stammer out an objection, but Yabuta said, “I really only need one of you. If I decide which one is less helpful, I won’t have to tolerate this chatter any longer. Because a severed head cannot speak.”

The ministers hurried to accomplish their task. Seikei let them, not knowing what else to do.

After he was dressed, he understood at least one reason why he wouldn’t want to be emperor. The robe was bulky and quite heavy. It included tight undergarments that added to his discomfort. The outfit was topped off by a high hat that covered Seikei’s commoner haircut and even the hachimaki headband. Finally the ministers slipped sandals with high soles on his feet, making him seem taller, but also making it nearly impossible to walk.