The Sword That Cut the Burning Grass (6 page)

“I have already asked him,” Yabuta said. “He did leave you at the governor’s, but you could easily have returned
here
by yourself, since you had learned the way.”

“You can’t believe that! Why would I want to kill these monks? What would I do with the emperor?”

Yabuta leaned closer to Seikei. His voice was lower now, as if he wanted it to be heard by Seikei alone. “I’ll tell you what I do believe,” he said. “You met this man on the road and he told you of a plot against the shogun. I have heard that you like to solve crimes as if
you,
not your foster father, were the judge. He isn’t here to lend you the cover of his authority, so you decided you would do this on your own. You took on something that was too big for you, in order to bring glory upon yourself.”

Yabuta’s voice had taken on a singsong quality, like the sound of a loom when a weaver is making cloth. It was as if he were weaving a terrible blanket of lies and truth to ensnare Seikei.

“You should have reported the plot,” said Yabuta. “You didn’t. Then you learned while you were here that the emperor was planning to escape—and instead of bringing that information to the governor, you went looking for the scroll so you could present the proof of the plot yourself.”

“I realized that he had plans to control the emperor,” added the Minister of the Left, pointing at Seikei.

“What have you done with him?” asked the other minister.

Annoyed, Yabuta motioned for a guard. “Take these two and put them someplace where they can’t talk to anyone,” he ordered.

As they were led away, the two ministers now resembled squawking chickens more than peacocks. Seikei’s satisfaction at the sight, however, was fleeting.

“Because you failed to perform your duty,” Yabuta told him, “a serious threat against the shogun—who trusted you—has arisen.”

“What threat?” Seikei demanded. “You can’t really believe this man’s story.” He pointed to the ronin, who bowed.

“You know only a part of what is happening,” Yabuta replied.

“And I deny having anything to do with the emperor’s disappearance,” Seikei said.

Yabuta’s dark, cold eyes opened wide. Seikei had to force himself not to shrink from them. He felt he was looking into a lake with no bottom. “But you allowed him to get away,” Yabuta said. “And free, he is dangerous.”

“I can’t imagine anyone
less
dangerous,” said Seikei.

“No one cares what
you
imagine,” replied Yabuta.

“I will report to the governor—” Seikei began.

Yabuta cut him off. “He knows all about you already. In addition to your failure to inform him about a planned rebellion, you have other offenses. I have innkeepers’ bills showing that you ordered lavish meals at every stop between here and Edo. You demanded service fit for a daimyo, not for a courier who was supposed to be carrying out a task for the shogun.”

Seikei hung his head. He could not deny the truth of this, even though Yabuta made it sound worse than it had been.

“Wait,” Seikei said. “There was another man here yesterday. He may have heard what I said to the emperor. He could confirm—”

“Where is this man now?” snapped Yabuta.

“I don’t know, but he was dressed in a blue kimono, and he left two swords with the guard at the temple porch.” Seikei hesitated. “At least I think they were his.”

Yabuta curled his lip. “That’s hardly a precise description. No one else reported seeing this other samurai. Perhaps you imagined him.”

Seikei wanted to protest, but he saw that was useless. He bowed his head. “Then how may I help find the emperor?” he asked humbly.

“Find the emperor?” Yabuta didn’t try to suppress the gloating in his voice. “I don’t believe I need any more of your
help.
” He licked his lips, and asked, “Are you familiar with the saying, ‘A samurai has two swords. When the long one fails, the short one must succeed’?”

“Yes,” Seikei said after a pause. He knew what Yabuta meant.

“The guards will take you back to your room,” said Yabuta. “I suggest you consider what the effect would be if your disgrace is made public. Your foster father, Judge Ooka, will be humiliated as well. You—and only you—could spare him that.”

Seikei understood the meaning behind that as well. Numbly, he followed the guards, wondering how he could have made so many mistakes. The judge had even warned him about Yabuta, which made Seikei’s failure all the harder to bear.

At the governor’s residence, the guards took Seikei’s horse and left him at the guesthouse. They let him keep his swords, of course. Yabuta intended him to use them, or at least one of them.

That was the meaning of the saying Yabuta had referred to. If a samurai failed to overcome his enemy with the long sword that he carried, then it was his duty to use the short one—on himself.

Seikei had always believed that he would, if necessary, preserve his honor in this manner. He had never seen a samurai actually commit
seppuku,
although he did witness the actor Tomomi kneel and bare his neck for the sword. Tomomi had been strong-willed and entirely willing to die, for he had accomplished his goal. He did not hesitate to accept death as the price of honor.

But Seikei had heard stories of other samurai who, when called on to end their own lives, could not bring themselves to do it. Some asked a faithful retainer to cut off their heads. Others tried to stab themselves, but did such a poor job that they lay in agony, waiting to bleed to death.

Seikei withdrew his short sword from its scabbard and looked at it. It was a fine sword, given to him as a present by the governor of Yamato Province because Seikei had defeated the ninja named Kitsune. The governor had, in turn, won the pair of swords long ago from Seikei’s father Judge Ooka.

Tears came to Seikei’s eyes as he thought of the man he respected more than any other. What would the judge feel when he learned that Seikei had disgraced himself? Would he approve of Seikei’s decision to commit seppuku? Would seppuku prove that Seikei’s only desire was to honor his foster father?

A memory floated into Seikei’s mind like a blackbird flying across a gray sky before a storm. He had often discussed with the judge the duties of a samurai. On one occasion, Seikei had been reading one of the many books devoted to the subject. “Those books have fine thoughts in them,” the judge had said. “But a man knows best of all, in his heart, what his duty is and whether he has fulfilled it or not.”

Seikei turned the sword over in his hand, looking at its gleaming edge, which was sharp enough to cut a falling leaf in two. He thought about what the judge had said.

There was still another way.

8

DRIVING A HARD BARGAIN

S
eikei used his short sword to cut his hair so that he would no longer be recognized as a samurai. Then he made a
hachimaki
headband, inscribed it with the word
honor,
and tied it around his forehead. By doing so, he signaled that he had pledged to wear it until he had accomplished his task.

No one noticed him as he slipped out of the guesthouse and left the grounds of the governor’s residence. Yabuta had not thought it worthwhile to put a guard on him. If Seikei chose to flee rather than kill himself, that was only one more indication of his unworthiness to serve the shogun.

Seikei knew where he must go first. In the city where he spent his boyhood, there were shops where people in need could obtain loans if they left something valuable behind. It was possible to pay back the loan, plus a fee, within a certain period of time and regain whatever had been left.

There must be such places in Kyoto, Seikei knew, and he found one not far from the governor’s residence. The owner, an elderly man whose face looked like a piece of ancient porcelain with a network of fine cracks in it, didn’t even seem surprised when Seikei offered his swords.

“Going into business?” asked the old man as he examined the blades.

Seikei did not answer. His stomach was churning at the thought of leaving the swords here. When Seikei put aside his old wooden sword and took up these, made by a craftsman from the finest steel, he had truly become a samurai. If he failed to accomplish what he had in mind, then he would never be able to redeem the swords. That would not only bring greater shame on Seikei’s head, but make it impossible for him to die honorably by committing seppuku.

The old man counted out twenty
ryo
onto the counter and looked up. Seikei realized that was far less than the swords were worth. But what could he do about it? He recalled that his father the tea merchant had always complained that Seikei had a poor head for business. “Anyone can cheat you!” Father had wailed. “You will lose everything I’ve saved in my entire life.”

So Seikei forced himself to shake his head no. The old man acted insulted. Seikei had seen his father do that when a customer refused to pay the asking price for tea.

Seikei reached for the swords as if to take them away.

The old man put another ten ryo on the counter. Seikei waited, still not saying anything.

The old man sighed. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “If you leave your kosode too, I can give you another five ryo. As long as you’re giving up your swords, you won’t need that jacket. You won’t be in the shogun’s service anymore.”

Seikei realized he was right. “I’ll need something else to wear,” he muttered. He looked around the shop. “How about that?” he said, pointing to a
happu,
a plain blue jacket of the kind shopkeepers’ delivery boys used.

“You looking for a job?” the old man asked.

“I have one already,” Seikei replied.

He left the shop feeling slightly dizzy. He kept reaching to his waist, feeling the loss of weight caused by his missing swords. But there was no time for regrets. He knew that before he could accomplish anything else, he had to find out what the Kusanagi scroll contained.

In a street near the imperial palace, Seikei bought a small basket of pears from a farmer who had brought a cartload into the city. Seikei knew that even though the emperor was missing, there were many other people who lived and worked at the palace—members of the imperial family, officials, clerks, servants. They all had to be fed, and someone carrying food into the grounds would not arouse suspicion.

By the smell, he found the entrance that led to the kitchen. As he expected, it was large and chaotically busy, with rows of chefs cleaning fish, steam rising from pots of rice in fireplaces, and servants carrying trays out as soon as they were filled. No one gave Seikei a second glance as he put down his pears and picked up one of the trays.

He assumed that the library would be in that part of the palace close to the hall of the two chief ministers. Neither of them would wish to walk far to obtain a scroll. Luckily, he found his way to the corridor he remembered from the day before. He only hoped that Yabuta had kept the two ministers in custody so that Seikei wouldn’t encounter them.

A female servant emerged from a doorway and walked toward Seikei. She was young and frowned when she saw him, as if realizing he was out of place. He tried to make himself appear as stupid as possible. “Library? Library?” he asked in a high voice.

She turned and pointed to a door at the other end of the hallway. Seikei bowed—nearly spilling the tray—and thanked her profusely. When he reached the doorway, he looked over his shoulder and saw that she had waited to see that he entered the right room.

He slid the door open and stepped inside. Around the walls were shelves holding hundreds of scrolls of all sizes. Some looked too large for one person to lift; others were small enough to fit in the sleeve of a kimono. Each one had a title on the end. In the center of the room were some mats where one could sit, and at the far end, large windows let sunlight in.

Fortunately, no one else was here. Seikei set the tray down and started to read the titles of the scrolls, looking for the one that read
Kusanagi.
It seemed like a hopeless task. At any moment someone might come in. The girl who had seen him might have reported it to someone else. . . .

Then Seikei’s eye fell on a lacquered table that held several scrolls that had not been reshelved. Of course! Yabuta had read the Kusanagi scroll, because the two ministers had shown it to him. Seikei examined the loose scrolls and felt a thrill when he lifted the one titled
Kusanagi.

What to do now? Even though it was one of the smaller scrolls, he had no time to read it here. Taking it was risky too, for someone might search him. He decided that it couldn’t be helped. He must find out what message the scroll contained. Concealing it under his jacket, Seikei slid open the door and peered into the corridor. It was empty. He slipped out and headed for the kitchen.

On the way, he heard people shouting. He stopped, fearing that someone had already discovered the missing scroll. But then he realized the noise came from outside the palace. It had nothing to do with him.

By the time Seikei reached the kitchen, two palace guards were there, questioning the cooks. He tensed, preparing to run if they remembered he had been at the palace yesterday.

But as he listened, he realized the guards were looking for someone who had broken into a shrine on the palace grounds. Evidently it was a shrine that was used very rarely, and only today had someone discovered that the door to it had been forced open.

No one in the kitchen reported noticing anything strange. Seikei, in his happu jacket, slipped out the door as if going about his ordinary business. As he approached the castle gate through which he had entered the grounds, however, he slowed his pace. A line of people had formed because guards were searching everyone who passed through.

“They’re trying to find something that was stolen from the shrine,” Seikei heard someone behind him say. He looked back to see two tradesmen with empty hand-carts. They had delivered their wares to the palace and were now eager to return home.