Dream of a Spring Night (Hollow Reed series) (5 page)

Yamada Sadahira was raised in the South, the only son of a provincial lord who owed allegiance to the Taira clan.
 
During the Hogen rebellion, he became an unlikely hero at fifteen and broke with his family.
 

The abdicated Emperor Sutoku had taken up arms against the new emperor, and young Sadahira answered Taira Kiyomori’s call to arms because his father was too ill to come.

The war tragically pitted brother against brother and father against son, as the four most powerful families in the nation, the imperial family, the Fujiwara court nobles, and the Taira and Minamoto warrior clans chose sides.
 

At fifteen, Sadahira thought of battle as an adventure.
 
He donned his armor and rode off to the capital at the head of a contingent of Yamada soldiers.

Filled with a wild joy at the idea of winning fame, his excitement was fed by much older and more experienced warriors who treated him with respect because he commanded a hundred mounted fighters and another hundred foot soldiers.
 
Never mind that he was a mere boy who had never fought, never killed a man,
never
handled a sword with any kind of expertise.
 
It did not matter.
 
He was a Yamada and represented his house.

Sadahira’s moment of glory came unexpectedly and with unexpected results.

The abdicated emperor and his supporters were holed up in the Shirakawa palace across the Kamo River from the imperial palace.
 
During a night of frantic meetings, the reigning emperor and his Taira and Minamoto generals decided that they must attack quickly and force a decision.
 
In the pre-dawn hours, Sadahira set out with the rest of their army.
 
He wore his father’s fine armor, carried his best bow (he was quite a good archer), and rode his father’s big black stallion.

When they were within shouting distance of the west gate of the Shirakawa Palace, they delivered a series of challenges to the enemy.
 
Each of the commanders rode up, stopped a small distance from the gate, and called out his offer to fight any man who thought himself good enough.
 
For a while these challenges went unanswered.
 
The enemy refused to engage.
 
Eventually
,
 
Sadahira
took his turn.
 
He spurred the great black horse and charged toward the gate.
 
Reining in in a cloud of dust, his heart pounding with pride, he announced his name and descent and delivered his challenge.
 

At fifteen, Sadahira’s voice had not quite changed, and when he demanded that one of rebel warriors meet him in single combat, the answer from within the walls was a burst of laughter.
 
Shaking with humiliation at this insult, Sadahira galloped closer and called out his challenge again.
 
This brought more laughter, as well as shouts that Lord Kiyomori must be a coward if he sent babies to fight his battle.
 

Sadahira wept with fury and shame as he turned his horse to ride back.

But behind him the laughter stopped and the gates creaked open.
 
Through the

gate
rode a single warrior.
 
He wore armor braided with grass green silk over a blue-patterned robe and gripped a black-lacquered bow.
 
Walking his bay horse forward, he watched the boy through the slits in his helmet.
 
Then he stopped.
 

Half-blinded by tears, Sadahira turned back and placed an arrow into the groove of his bow.
 
“Please, Lord Hachiman,” he prayed.
 
“Please let me
be
steady, so I can show them.
 
Please make my horse hold still and make my arrow find its target.”

The distance between them was not great.
 

Looking past Sadahira at the gathered troops, the warrior demanded in a deep

 
voice
, “What sort of men would send a child to do a man’s work?”
 
Then he told the boy, “Go home, Sadahira.
 
This is no place for you.”

Sadahira saw red.
 
He raised his bow, strained hard to pull it, and released

the
arrow.
 
It whirred away.

At the last moment, the warrior raised his bow and tried to take evasive action,

but
he was too late.
 
Sadahira’s arrow struck the front pommel of his saddle, passed through it and then through his belly and into the back of the saddle.
 
The horse capered as its rider slumped over with a cry, his nerveless hand dropping the bow.
 
Behind him, foot soldiers rushed through the gate, followed by shouting horsemen.
 
The wounded warrior on his horse galloped away.
 
He died pinned to his saddle.
 
His corpse was still sagging sideways on the running horse when battle was joined.
 
The Hogen rebellion was over.

And Sadahira was a hero.

But the man who had died that agonizing first death was Toshima no Jiro, a close

family
friend who had once saved Sadahira’s life.
 
His second effort to save Sadahira cost him his own life.
 

When Sadahira realized whom he had killed, he returned home and told his father

that
he would never fight again.
 
He would become a monk.
  

Because he was the only son in a military family, his father stormed, argued, begged, and finally compromised.
 
Sadahira would enter the university and become an official.
 
His reasonable hope was that in time his son would change his mind or that another war would break out and he would be forced to take up arms.

And so Sadahira had attended the university and studied medicine.

*

Now, ten years later, he was a junior doctor of medicine.
 
He was highly

trained
and eager but sadly lacking in paying patients, when a call summoned him to the sickbed of the Retired Emperor’s favorite cook and gave him hope that this would soon change.

Being unfamiliar with the palace layout, he took a wrong turn among the warren of buildings, courtyards, and galleries.
 
He opened a small door in one of the walls, expecting a shortcut to the next courtyard.
 
Instead, he stepped into an enclosed garden adjoining the wing of a larger building.

It was only a small area, nicely planted with a stand of golden bamboo, a few clipped shrubs, and some ferns.
 
The plants clustered around three large rocks surrounded by patches of moss and large round pebbles.
 
The rest of the ground was covered with the same fine pale gravel that formed the surface of the palace courtyards.
 
It looked like a very private, almost forgotten, corner of the palace, enclosed by high walls on three sides and the veranda of the building on the fourth.

On this veranda knelt a young girl, singing softly as she bent over some furry
creature.
 
She made a charming picture.

But the animal suddenly gave a loud yowl, leaped from the girl’s hands, and

flew
off the veranda and into the garden.

“Oh, you bad cat,” cried the girl, putting a bloody hand to her mouth.
 
“Come

back
here, stupid.
 
I’m just trying to help.”
 
She got up to look for the cat and caught sight of Sadahira.
 
“Oh.”

Sadahira wanted to withdraw quickly, afraid that he had intruded into a restricted

area
, but she was very young and she smiled at him.
 
That smile twisted his heart.
 
Just so his little sister used to smile at him, long ago when he still lived at home.

“Forgive me,” he said with a bow — she wore rather rich robes for a mere child — “I’m afraid I am lost.”

She laughed.
 
Her laughter sounded like bells to Sadahira.
 
“I’m Toshiko,” she said, “and being a stranger here myself, I cannot direct you.
 
Since you are here, could you help me catch a cat?
 
He has a very bad ear and refuses treatment.”

“Really?”
 
Enchanted, he walked to the veranda and looked up at her.
 
“It so happens I’m a physician.”

She clapped her hands.
 
“Wonderful.”
 
And without further ado, she jumped off the veranda in her billowing gowns and full trousers and pounced on a shrub.
 
“Quick,” she cried, “I have him, but he’s strong.”

Sadahira set down his bamboo case and went to her aid.
 
Together they pulled the fighting, hissing, scratching animal forth.
 
He carried it back to the veranda.
 
“Heavens,” he said, looking at the cat more closely, “he’s not very attractive, is he?”

“Shh.
 
He’s a very vain cat.
 
I tell him that he looks heroic with all those scars from his battles.”

They smiled at each other.

“It’s his right ear,” she said helpfully after a moment, and he took his eyes from her face – a very pretty face -- and examined the cat.

“I see what you mean.
 
Will you hold him for a moment while I get my case?”

When he returned, she had the cat in her lap and was stroking him until he purred and closed his eyes.
 
“He belongs to Lady Dainagon,” she confided as he rummaged in his case, looking for a salve.
 
“He ran away and when he came back he was like this.
 
Only the ear got worse.”

Lady Dainagon?
 
Perhaps she was a young relative or companion of one of the Emperor’s women.
 
He cast an anxious glance around.
 
They were alone, and the shades of the room beyond were down.
 
He hoped no one was inside.

“The cut is inflamed and festers,” he said, “I am going to apply a soothing salve made of ground sesame seeds, but it should be cleansed frequently with vinegar or some wine in which ginger root has been boiled.
 
I don’t have any with me.
 
Perhaps you can do this yourself?”

She nodded.
 
“Easily.
 
I have treated animals at home.”

“Good.
 
In that case, a tea made from figwort and cloves and allowed to cool will also clean his eyes nicely.
 
Wash them and the ear once a day.
 
I shall leave the salve for you.
 
If you apply it to the ear, it will heal quickly. ” He found the little jar of salve and showed her what to do.
 
The animal twitched once or twice but then settled down to let him check the other wounds.

“You have gentle hands,” she said approvingly.

“Thank you.”
 
He was done but saw the oozing scratch on her hand.
 
“In that case,” he said lightly, “please let me treat the scratch while I’m here.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”
 
She blushed and hid the hand in her skirt.

“The cat has dirty claws.
 
Why not let me at least have a look at it?”

She brought forth her hand as if she
were
ashamed of it – a small hand, still childishly soft but capable and strong, he thought, with tapering fingers and lovely nails.
 
He held it reverently.
 
The scratch had bled but did not look deep.
 
He took a soft paper tissue from his case and another jar of ointment and carefully and gently cleansed the wound.
 
Her hand was warm and trembled a little in his.
 
It feels, he thought, like holding a small, trusting animal.
 
When he was finished, they looked at each other.
 
He felt warm and quickly laid her hand in her lap.