The Harsh Cry of the Heron (48 page)

Takeo and his retinue
were lodged in a mansion not far from Kono’s own residence, with stabling for
the horses and a hastily constructed enclosure for the kirin. Takeo dressed
with considerable care for the meeting, and rode in one of the sumptuous
lacquered palanquins that had been transported by ship from Hagi to Akashi.
Gifts for Kono were carried by a train of servants: the local products of the
Three Countries that were a testimony to prosperity and good rulership,
whatever Kono had enjoyed or admired during his stay in the West - one of Taku’s
minor forms of espionage.

‘Lord Otori has come
up to the capital as the sun approaches its zenith,’ Kono exclaimed. ‘It could
not be a more auspicious time. I have the highest hopes for your success.’

This is the man who
brought the news that my rule was illegal and the Emperor demanded my
abdication and exile, Takeo reminded himself. I must not be distracted by his
flattery. He smiled and thanked Kono, saying, ‘All these things are in the
hands of Heaven. I will submit to the will of His Divine Majesty.’

‘Lord Saga is most
anxious to meet you. Perhaps tomorrow is not too early? He would like to see
matters settled before the rains begin.’

‘Certainly.’ Takeo
could see no point in delay. Indeed he was eager to learn Saga’s exact terms.
The rains would no doubt keep him in the capital until the seventh month: he suddenly
saw himself the loser in the contest. What would he do then? Skulk in the damp
and dreary city until he could creep home and arrange his own exile? Or take
his own life, leaving Shigeko alone in Saga’s hands, at his mercy? Was he
really about to gamble an entire country, and his life and hers, on the outcome
of a contest?

He gave no sign of
these misgivings, but spent the rest of the evening admiring Kono’s collection
of treasures and discussing painting with the nobleman.

‘Some of these were
my father’s,’ Kono said, as one of his companions unwrapped the silk coverings
of the precious objects. ‘Of course, most of his collection was lost . . . But
we will not recall those unhappy times. Forgive me. I have heard that Lord
Otori himself is an artist of great talent.’

‘No talent at all,’
Takeo replied. ‘But painting gives me great pleasure, though I have very little
time for it.’

Kono smiled and
pursed his lips knowingly.

No doubt he is
thinking I will soon have all the time in the world, Takeo reflected, and he
could not help smiling too at the irony of his situation.

‘I will be bold
enough to beg you to give me one of your works. And Lord Saga would be
delighted to receive one too.’

‘You flatter me too
much,’ Takeo replied. ‘I have brought nothing with me. A few sketches done on
the journey I have already sent home to my wife.’

‘I am sorry I cannot
persuade you,’ Kono exclaimed with warmth. ‘In my experience, the less the
artist displays his work, the greater the talent. It is the hidden treasure,
the concealed skill that is the most impressive and the most valued.

‘Which brings me,’ he
went on smoothly, ‘to your daughter - surely Lord Otori’s greatest treasure.
She will accompany you tomorrow?’

It seemed to be only
partly a question. Takeo inclined his head slightly.

‘Lord Saga is looking
forward to meeting his opponent,’ Kono murmured.

Lord Kono came the
next day with the Okuda, father and son, and the other warriors of Saga’s
household, to escort Takeo, Shigeko and Gemba to the great lord’s residence.
When they dismounted from the palanquins in the garden of a large and imposing
mansion, Kono murmured, ‘Lord Saga asks me to apologize. He is having a new
castle built - he will show it to you later. In the meantime he fears you will
find his dwelling place somewhat humble - not at all what you are accustomed to
in Hagi.’

Takeo raised his
eyebrows and glanced at Kono’s face, but could see no hint of irony there.

‘We have had the
advantage of years of peace,’ he replied. ‘Even so, I am sure nothing we have
in the Three Countries can compare with the splendours of the capital. You must
have the most skilled craftsmen, the most talented artists.’

‘It’s my experience
that such people seek a calm environment in which to practise their art. Many
fled the capital and are only now beginning to return. Lord Saga gives many
commissions. He is a passionate admirer of all the arts.’

Minoru also
accompanied them with scrolls of the genealogy of those present and lists of
the gifts for Lord Saga. Hiroshi begged to be excused, pleading he did not want
to leave the kirin unguarded, though Takeo thought there were other reasons:
the young man’s awareness of his lack of status and land, his reluctance to
meet the man to whom Shigeko might be married.

Okuda, dressed in formal
clothes rather than the armour he had worn previously, led them down a wide
veranda and through many rooms, each one decorated with flamboyant paintings,
brilliant colours on gold backgrounds. Takeo could not help admiring the
boldness of the design and the mastery of its execution. Yet he felt all the
paintings were done to demonstrate the power of the warlord: they spoke of
glorification; their purpose was to dominate.

Peacocks strutted
beneath massive pine trees. Two mythical lions strode across one entire wall;
dragons and tigers snarled at each other; hawks gazed imperiously from their
vantage point on twin-peaked crags. There was even a painting of a pair of
houou feeding on bamboo leaves.

In this final room
Okuda asked them to wait, while he left with Kono. Takeo had expected this:
indeed he often used the same ploy himself. No one should expect too easy an
access to the ruler. He composed himself and gazed at the houou. He was sure
the artist had never seen a live one, but was painting from legend. He turned
his thoughts to the temple at Terayama, to the sacred forest of paulownia trees
where even now the houou were raising their chicks. He saw in his mind’s eye
Makoto, his closest friend, who had devoted his life to the Way of the Houou,
to the way of peace, felt the spiritual strength of Makoto’s support, embodied
in his present companions, Gemba and Shigeko. All three of them sat without
speaking, and he felt the energy of the room intensify, filling him with a
steady confidence. He set his ears as he had once long ago in Hagi castle when
made to wait in a similar way; then he had overheard the treachery of Lord
Shigeru’s uncles. Now he heard Kono talking quietly to a man he presumed was
Saga, but they spoke only in commonplaces of insignificant matters.

Kono has been alerted
to my hearing, he thought. What else has Zenko revealed to him?

He recalled his past,
known only to the Tribe; how much did Zenko know?

After a while Okuda
returned with a man whom he introduced as Lord Saga’s chief steward and
administrator, who would escort them to the audience room, receive the lists of
presents prepared by Minoru and oversee the scribes as they recorded the
proceedings. This man bowed to the ground before Takeo and addressed him in
terms of greatest courtesy.

A polished and
covered boardwalk took them through a small exquisite garden to another
building, even grander and more beautiful. The day was growing warmer, and the
trickle of water from pools and cisterns gave an enticing sense of coolness.
Takeo could hear caged birds whistling and calling somewhere in the depths of
the house, and thought that they must be Lady Saga’s pets; then recalled that
the warlord’s wife had died the previous year. He wondered if it had been a
tragic loss for Saga, and felt a moment of fear for his own wife, so far away:
how could he bear her death? Would he be able to live without her? Take another
wife for reasons of state?

Recalling Gemba’s
advice, he put the thought from him, concentrating all his attention on the man
he was at last to meet.

The steward fell to
his knees, sliding the screens apart and touching his head to the ground. Takeo
stepped into the room and prostrated himself. Gemba followed him, but Shigeko
waited on the threshold. Only when the two men had received the command to sit
up did she move gracefully into the room and sink to the floor beside her
father.

Saga Hideki sat at
the head of the room. The alcove on his right held a painting in the mainland
style of Shin. It might even be the famous Evening Bell from a Distant Temple,
which Takeo had heard of but never seen. Compared with the other rooms, this
room was almost austere in its decoration, as though nothing should compete
with the powerful presence of the man himself. The effect was extraordinary, Takeo
thought. The ostentatious paintings were like the decorated scabbard: here the
sword was exposed, needing no decoration, only its own sharp and deadly steel.

He had thought Saga
might be a brutal and unreflecting warlord; now he changed his mind. Brutal he
might be, but not unreflecting - a man who controlled his mind as stringently
as his body. There was no doubt he was facing a formidable opponent. He
bitterly regretted his own disability, his lack of skill with the bow, and then
he heard a very faint hum from his left, where Gemba sat in relaxed composure.
And he saw suddenly that Saga would never be defeated by brute force, but by
some subtlety, some shift in the balance of the life forces that the Masters of
the Way of the Houou knew how to bring about.

Shigeko remained in a
deep bow while the two men looked at each other. Saga must have been a few
years older than Takeo, closer to forty than thirty, with the thick-set body of
middle age. Yet he had a looseness about him that belied his years: he sat
easily, his movements were fluid. He had the broad shoulders and huge muscles
of a bowman, made broader by the flared wings of his formal robes. His voice
was curt, the consonants clipped, the vowels shortened: it was the first time
Takeo had heard the accent of the north-east region, Saga’s birthplace. His
face was broad and well shaped, the eyes long and somewhat hooded, the ears
surprisingly delicate, with almost no lobes, set very close to the head. He
wore a small beard and a rather long moustache, both slightly grizzled though
his hair showed no traces of grey.

Saga’s eyes searched
Takeo’s face no less keenly, flickered over his body, rested briefly on the
black-gloved right hand. Then the warlord leaned forward and said, brusquely
but amiably, ‘What do you think?’

‘Lord Saga?’

Saga gestured towards
the alcove. ‘The painting, of course.’

‘It’s marvellous. It
is Yu-Chien, is it not?’

‘Ha! Kono advised me
to hang it. He said you would know it, and that it would appeal to you more
than my modern stuff. How about that one?’

He got to his feet
and walked to the eastern wall. ‘Come and look.’

Takeo rose and stood
a little behind him. They were of almost equal height, though Saga was
considerably heavier. The painting was a garden landscape showing bamboo, plum
and pine. It was also in black ink, understated and evocative.

‘It is also very
fine,’ Takeo said with unfeigned admiration. ‘A masterpiece.’

‘The three friends,’
Saga said, ‘flexible, fragrant and strong. Lady Maruyama, please join us.’

Shigeko stood and
moved slowly to her father’s side.

‘All three can
withstand the adversity of winter,’ she said in a low voice.

‘Indeed,’ Saga said,
returning to his seat. ‘I see such a combination here.’ He indicated that they
should move closer to him. ‘Lady Maruyama is the plum, Lord Miyoshi the pine.’

Gemba bowed at this
compliment.

‘And Lord Otori the
bamboo.’

‘I believe I am
flexible,’ Takeo replied, smiling.

‘From what I know of
your history, I believe so too. Yet bamboo can be extremely hard to eradicate
if it happens to be growing in the wrong place.’

‘It will always grow
back,’ Takeo agreed. ‘It is better to leave it where it is, and take advantage
of its many and varied uses.’

‘Ha!’ Saga gave his
triumphant laugh again. His eyes strayed back to Shigeko, a curious expression
in them, of both calculation and desire. He seemed to be about to address her
directly, but then thought better of it and spoke to Takeo.

‘Does this philosophy
explain why you have not dealt with Arai?’

Takeo replied, ‘Even
a poisonous plant can be put to some use, in medicine for example.’

‘You are interested
in farming, I hear.’

‘My father, Lord
Shigeru, taught me to be, before his death. When the farmers are happy, the
country is rich and stable.’

‘Well, I haven’t had
a lot of time for farming over the last few years. I’ve been too busy fighting.
But food’s been short this winter as a result. Okuda tells me the Three
Countries produce more rice than they can consume.’

‘Many parts of our
country practise double-cropping now,’ Takeo said. ‘It’s true, we have
considerable stores of rice, as well as soybeans, barley, millet and sesame.

We have been blessed
by good harvests for many years, and have been spared drought and famine.’

‘You have produced a
jewel. No wonder so many people are eyeing it covetously.’