Thousand Shrine Warrior (18 page)

He did perform a small amount of work, he reminded himself. He signed important papers prepared by others. He made a few officious commands here and there, usually with Priest Kuro's counsel. In his behavior he was not at all unlike Lord Sato had lately become; so, he reasoned, he must be serving Lord Sato pretty well since they agreed in their actions.

Much of Norifune's work had recently been geared toward readiness against any spy from Heian-kyo or, worse, Kamakura. It was his duty to hide the fact that Lord Sato had become a lazy, unthinking leader! It was in his own best interest to keep either the old or the new governments from finding out that Norifune himself was less than a skilled executor.

Life was a worry.

Lord Sato hadn't always been a poor ruler in Kanno. Norifune was smart enough to have noticed the change. He wasn't smart enough to guess some connection with Priest Kuro. Nor did he really believe Lord Sato's change was for the worse, since he'd become most congenial though somewhat dotty.

Norifune had, like his father before him, served the province in such a manner as to give the old government no cause to interfere; and Lord Sato, like his father before him, appreciated these efforts and awarded the Imperial constable a high post inside the castle. Norifune was shamlessly aware of his personal corruption, but didn't think he was a base fellow compared to some he had heard about. And if Lord Sato had become, in the last year, rather more like Norifune's indolent family and less like the clever and proud Sato clan, well, was Norifune to judge himself so badly as to dislike his own attributes when seen in his patron?

Since there was no Imperial government left (or not worth guarding against), having control of one's Imperial constable was pretty much wasted effort. But ever since Lord Sato became dissolute, he went unconcerned about the fact of Norifune's limited political value. This lack of concern suited Norifune well. He didn't think he was young enough to succeed in some other capacity if life changed too much.

Yet there remained that inescapable inevitability of the shogunate's sooner or later wanting to know how things sat in Kanno. Norifune had lived with this worry for a few years already; and still there was no indication of Kamakura's interest. Kanno had never been very important and was not a priority to the Shogun. The region had kept to itself for so long that it was not viewed as a possible threat to anyone, else the Lords of Kanno would have risen in past generations. But if Kamakura acquired the least suspicion, Kanno could find itself instantly the brunt of criticism and impositions from outside. Norifune could not afford to bide his time in the midst of such uncertainty.

Once or twice he tried to broach the topic of Kamakura with his patron, who Norifune genuinely wished to protect, this being the surest way to protect himself. But Lord Sato was scarcely a ruler any longer, wanting only to get pleasure from this life and salvation at its closing. That Lotus priest taught that excess would lead to virtue. For once a man knew he could have everything, in the long run he would prefer nothing, and thereby he would become pure. It was also fine if it took a long time to reach that point, Kuro assured, as long as one remembered to recite the Lotus Sutra on a regular basis. Sato became disinterested in governing his fief, preferring to pursue happiness. Kuro interpreted this as spiritual advancement, for power meant nothing, joy was better. To make it easier for Lord Sato to quest through frivolity on his way to enlightenment, Kuro took much of the burden of leadership onto his own back, poor fellow. But, inasmuch as Kuro was an unworldly fellow with unfathomable distractions of his own, it was not surprising that a few things would go to ruin under a priest's administration.

Thus it was small use to take the fief's problems to Lord Sato, who would only reply, “Let's go on a hunt today!” or “Let's play a game of
shogi!
” sending some page after the gameboard.

So like many others, Norifune had taken his worries to Priest Kuro and had gotten good advice. Norifune was told that spies would indeed precede an official delegation, whether from Heian-kyo or Kamakura; and these spies were apt to go around in the guise of mendicant priests or nuns, since only nameless pilgrims could travel Naipon without having to identify themselves at every border and station. Kuro had a natural antipathy for religions other than his own, but this advice struck Norifune as meritable in its own right.

Thus Chamberlain Norifune saw to it that religious travelers were denied access to the castle and, in general, harrassed and met with indifference or hostility—even from the peasants, who feared retribution from the Castle.

“I should be grateful to Priest Kuro,” said Norifune to the glowing coals. “Temporal counsel must be a nuisance to him, yet he tries so hard to be of service.”

Despite the recurrence of troubled thoughts and depression, Norifune did not feel the least guilty about himself. Conscience was not an issue. After all, it wasn't as though anyone were abusing the local population. It was true that Norifune and his patron had a tendency to look the other direction when something happened of its own accord, but few destructive policies were instigated. Few policies of any kind were instigated!

Nor was anyone trying to raise an army to cause neighboring fiefs a lot of trouble. Indeed, Lord Sato's army had dwindled due to attrition, desertions, and additional reasons perhaps inexplicable but easily overlooked.

So while things were unusual enough that an investigation could be catastrophic, on the other hand it wasn't as though Sato or Norifune were plotting against whoever might send spies. (Plotting against the spies themselves was a different matter.)

Norifune thought about these things quite often, reminding himself he only desired to live happily, even as Lord Sato wished to do, without having to work any harder than was necessary, and gain as much reward from life as could be found.

Too, now that Lord Sato had gotten to be so much like his chamberlain, they were fast friends. Norifune took pride in this relationship. They were genuinely fond of one another and had become two of the most useless fellows in Kanno province. And what of it? Wasn't the Emperor useless with the Shogun as regent? Wasn't the Shogun useless with regents of his own? The more important the man, the less he should have to do!

But if it were so, why was Norifune so downtrodden, especially at night? Only an hour before, he had been playing
go
with Lord Sato and feeling merry. Now, he was cooped up alone, transient gaiety forgotten, brooding about all these things, not one of which fully explained his recurrent downcast feelings. “I'm an old man,” he thought, huddled near the firepot, his shoulders quivering beneath the heavy quilt. He looked at the paper lantern, its candle flickering, its light somehow wan. “But I'm not really as old as my bones feel,” he added. In truth he was only in his forties, Lord Sato's age. He had a healthy paunch and only a few wrinkles. Still, since his wife had died the year before, about the time Priest Kuro came to the castle, Norifune had not found the nights reassuring. He hadn't been close to his wife, so it wasn't as though he were a grieving widower, but the night was filled with threats and ghostliness for him. He moped about the halls and his private chambers night after night, as restless and dispirited as a sick old has-been.

He might call for a maid or page to keep him warm, to cheer his night; but they always tried to make him perform in some manly way, even though he knew it didn't interest them, and it didn't interest him either.

Then he thought he might see a priest and unburden himself. But the only priest was Kuro. Kuro had come to be more like a state minister or someone like that, and was no good at lifting the spirits of a pious chamberlain. “Me a pious man!” he said aloud, and laughed snidely at himself. “If I were more pious, maybe Priest Kuro could help me. As it stands, every time I see him, I feel worse.”

He shook his head. Nothing could make him feel better.

Ordinarily he would have sat thus two or three more hours before wearing out his brain and crawling off to sleep. But tonight was going to be different, filled with distractions; for Norifune was about to have some of his fears fully realized and worse fears invented for him.

His room was unexpectedly invaded by a page other than the boy in the adjoining room. The page heralded a certain vassal, then departed. The warrior who hurried in afterward was sweaty and smelled of horse. He informed Norifune that a government agent had announced herself at the bridge and was being led to the castle by several men afoot.

“
Her
self?” said Norifune, his weak chin vanishing altogether when he drew himself to full sitting posture. His coverlet fell away and he grabbed an edge of it in his fist. “A spy?”

The vassal kneeling before the chamberlain replied, “Well, she's been reported near here for several days without once announcing herself. Could have been spying. She's a mendicant nun, but insists it is no disguise but her true calling.”

“Is she of Kamakura?” asked Norifune, and the vassal shook his head, quoting what he had heard:

“‘Defender of the Imperial House.'”

“Well, that's something at least,” said Norifune, somewhat relieved. So it might turn out to be a matter of etiquette and formal greetings—plus a cash token of appreciation, since the agent purported to be a mendicant. Quite a clever ploy to infer gifts bought silence! There would be some prestige for Lord Sato if things went well. A visit from someone connected with the Imperial house was something worthwhile, even if the agent's connection were tangential. Norifune would have to trump up some reasonable-sounding reports for the agent to carry back to Heian-kyo; but since the government that mattered was in Kamakura, the whole thing could be chalked up to a formal affair, although rather late in the night for one.

The vassal withdrew after leaving Norifune this news. Norifune's personal page helped the chamberlain change into a smart pair of hakama trousers and put on his best overcoat with lovely tassels in front. He had just about convinced himself that
this
was not going to be a fretful encounter and that none of Lord Sato's traditional positions need be compromised. He said, more to himself than to the page who helped him arrange his costume nicely, “A good excuse for a late-night celebration, with saké and many toasts to the Emperor and his agent!” He welcomed the prospects. “Gloomy night anyway. Needed something to happen, as long as it's pleasant.”

She no longer wore her incognito-hat, though she had not exactly given anyone her name; and she had not brought her alms-bag, which in any case had been damaged, but mainly was inappropriate for an official meeting with Lord Sato. She was not coming for his entertainment, after all; nor should she imply that a gift or reward was sought, whether for some religious advice or performance on the shakuhachi.

She was accompanied by a half-dozen samurai, who had been among the night guard stationed at the main bridgehouse. They went half in front and half behind, four of them with lanterns hung on bamboo poles; and they made a ghostly procession upon the narrow road. To the sides of the road were open fields, vanishing distantly into darkness. The forests had been leveled long ago, for the sake of the castle's construction and to insure no timber or hiding places for foe or would-be siege. In spring, the wild meadows would be beautifully flowered; presently, it was a wasteland of frozen, twisted stems, shrouded in deathly whiteness.

The snow had grown light. There was an area of starlight toward the horizon, suggesting that the clouds might break for at least a while. The wind was a bracing nuisance. The bikuni's long, loose sleeves whipped behind her.

Lord Sato's men treated her courteously but were clearly confused by her. They were under orders to deny pilgrims access to the castle, even to harrass them anywhere in the fief and province. But no samurai could deny an Emperor's vassal the least desire. They were therefore uncertain how to proceed with matters.

She had kept them ignorant of much, including what Emperor she happened to serve: the present puppet, or the one retired. They did not merit explanations, she maintained, taking on an air of elitism that she did not feel, but that was a common trait among those privileged to serve the Mikado.

Had they balked, she might have deigned to inform them how she had been appointed the Emperor's vassal while still a young woman, before the wars of Heian-kyo. It was more or less an honorific position, especially since the Shogun's rise; and she had never in her life laid eyes upon His Augustness and only occasionally had been called upon to serve Him in one or another capacity. Thus it was only in a narrow sense that she dared consider herself the Emperor's direct vassal.

Naipon was a conservative nation and its oldest customs demanded rigid and respectful obeisance. By custom, her position was spiritually significant and more awe-inspiring than a more materially meaningful association with the Shogun's government.

As the announcement of her position set matters of prestige and etiquette into play, rather than problems of governmental interference with provincial independence, the nun dared hope her situation was not especially dangerous. A shogunate informer would be hated and feared; assassination was the best recourse. Though the Imperial family's literal power was slight, the careers of lords had yet risen or fallen upon technicalities of propriety regarding the Mikado or His holy emissaries.

Thus she felt the trepidation of Lord Sato's men as they regarded her; as they considered the import and probity of her apparent station. They accompanied her along that dark road at a willfully slow pace, so that a rider would have the opportunity to arrive in advance and announce the situation. It could be that they would still attempt to do her injury. Other vassals might pour forth from the castle to attack, if the ban on pilgrims was to be upheld even in this extraordinary instance.