The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai (38 page)

Mokuhasa enjoyed the court dances and knew I did too. Court dances encompassed subtle, yet meaningful and eloquent movements. Special court music played with the full court orchestra. During these performances I sat behind the screens with other high-ranking wives and concubines. Hardly anyone spoke, but their eyes assessed each thread of my clothes and measured the suitability my
irome no kasane
, colour combinations, for the season. Obāsan and the court ritualist deliberated for hours on my clothing. It had to be perfect for a palace enclosure appearance. After I returned home, the music and dances soothed sleep for many nights.

Throughout these excursions, Tokikazu, Mokuhasa and Sadakokai discussed politics. Akio and I listened. Only the provinces in the north-west consistently supported the Taira Clan. Minamoto forces were gathering in the east.

Returning from a
sum
ō
match one evening, Sadakokai spoke of how Chancellor Kiyomori had infringed Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa’s authority. Kiyomori was endeavouring to earn the emperor’s favour again, but was not confident of doing so.

‘Emperor Go-Sh-Sh-Shirakawa has fingers as long as spider’s webs,’ Sadakokai said, and gave me a knowing look, ‘in the capital and in each p-p-province. If Chancellor Kiyomori can do this, it will be a g-g-good thing for us.’

‘We are in need of allies now, but we must isolate the emperors from our rivals. There are many, not just the Minamoto.’ Mokuhasa spoke softly.

‘I wish Chancellor Kiyomori well in negotiating this political maze.’ Tokikazu tapped Mokuhasa on the back.

‘Yes, I heard the
s
ō
hei
armies of Mount Hiei and Nara might unite.’

Sadakokai shook his head. ‘I heard a rumour too. About Chancellor K-Kiyomori. They say he might have to take the emperors away from our enemies near here. Maybe Fukuhara. To p-protect our p-power and his grandson.’

Mokuhasa gestured to Tokikazu. ‘With no offence intended against your judgement and leadership, Captain Tokikazu, I wish Governor Michimori was one of those making the decisions, with the Minamoto and
s
ō
hei
from the north and the south.’

‘We would all be fools not to agree.’ Tokikazu’s eyes turned a bitter brown.

I wondered if these problems would make my plans for revenge easier or more difficult.

VI. Journey with the Emperor

With Obāsan, her nephew, Ryo, Tokikazu and our samurai, I created a small network of messengers, as Michimori had. I used my serving girls, although I did not trust them yet. Gathering information was like collecting grains of millet, many seeds to make a mouthful. Three Eyes, the fiend and demon, seemed to have evaporated.

That first month at Rokuhara, however, I gained other information. Stories abounded about the burning of Miidera. There had been a siege. The Taira leaders, with Michimori as second-in-command, had burned some buildings and several priests had died. While I was sad about this, the monks had committed treason against the emperor and Chancellor Kiyomori. Nevertheless, I did not think well of burning temples.

Obāsan agreed with me. ‘Punishment, yes,’ she sighed, and put one hand on top of the other, ‘but not destruction.’ I placed my hands around hers, remembering a priest unworthy of death.

The next day, Rokuhara was transformed into a summer beehive, servants, samurai, priests, hatted and non-hatted aristocrats all chattering together. No one walked. Everyone ran through the corridors. It was rumoured that the entire capital was moving to Fukuhara.

The next evening Obāsan rushed in, her plait streaming behind her like a groomed horse’s tail. ‘It is true!’

‘What?’

‘The capital is moving to Fukuhara – on the third of next month.’

‘So soon? Is that possible?’

Obāsan raised her eyebrows and said informally, ‘When Taira no Kiyomori decides on an action, it is done.’

In fact Obāsan was mistaken. We left earlier, on the second, not the third, of the sixth month. She said it was a good month to travel since it was rainless. Not that we had any choice.

We were not to leave until the Hour of the Snake, so we watched the procession assemble until Tokikazu came for us. Thousands of mounted samurai and foot soldiers edged along each side of the road. From a distance the cavalcade resembled a long column of ants – well-dressed, colourful ants. Some ants rode horses, some rode in ox carts, and servant-ants carried the higher-ranking ones on tiny leaves. We would ride: the samurai on horses, Misuki, Emi and the serving girls in an ox cart, I in a palanquin, and Obāsan, later, in the ox carts with the others overseeing serving women.

Obāsan indicated the higher rankings, like Chancellor Kiyomori’s. He was of the first rank, the highest to which a commoner could aspire.

‘I did not know it was possible for a commoner to have rank.’ Emi put her hands together, and her eyes brightened.

‘He is the first warrior to have this honour,’ Obāsan continued. ‘Senior nobles are the first, second and third ranks. Those ranks are reserved for chief ministers in the Council of State.’

‘But Lord Michimori is third rank?’ Emi asked.

‘Yes. Fourth and fifth ranks are key posts. Below fifth rank, a person cannot freely enter the imperial walls. They are mere officials.’ Here Obāsan made a false pose of dignity.

We were too far away from the procession to detect the different combinations of scents. Each person formulated their own incense. Yet what colours! I studied the courtly women’s sleeves, which draped out of their palanquins and ox carts like butterfly wings. Naturally nothing else showed.

Obāsan said, ‘Courtly women entertain behind a curtain at home and never show their faces, just their sleeves.’

‘I suppose that is why kimono colour combinations are so important,’ Misuki said to herself. Obāsan smiled and placed a hand on Emi’s shoulder. ‘Yes, dear one.’

After the imperial guard, the reigning emperor came in his formal dress, and next the two retired emperors, Go-Shirawaka leading, also gloriously attired. Emi shaded her eyes against the glitter.

Chancellor Kiyomori led in an exquisite palanquin, lacquered with gold and silver
makie
, followed by his women’s equally elaborate palanquins. Next came carts and the imperial carriages with their escorts. Obāsan named each one she knew.

The Fujiwara regent was next, followed by Munemori, a son of Kiyomori, Michimori’s cousin. More of the highest-ranking officials, their women and escorts passed.

We joined the procession, with Tokikazu, Akio, Mokuhasa and Sadakokai as our escorts, among the third-rank people. Michimori rode ahead with his father and uncle, so I was deprived of his company. Akio shadowed Tokikazu, but, thank the Gods, he kept close to me and conversed whenever he could. He and I discussed the changing political situation. The Fukuhara monasteries would not make trouble, although the
s
ō
hei
on Mount Hiei and Nara had gathered against the emperors. After the burning of temples, it was logical to assume the monks bore antipathy towards the Taira, and perhaps the emperors as well.

To peep through the curtains of my palanquin, watch samurai on horseback, the countryside and the imperial guards trotting back and forth furnished me with nearly as much pleasure as watching courtly dances. For me the trip lasted but a breath.

As we approached the new city, scenes from Hitomi’s domain streaked through my memory. How long ago it was that the Village of Outcasts had loomed ahead, so immense to me. Through the horrible sixth month’s heat, an endless file of the People-Above-the-Clouds from Rokuhara and Heian-kyō, their samurai and soldiers, their servants, cooks, and seamstresses, travelled to the shore. From a distance Fukuhara looked like a primitive toy compared with Heian-kyō, but it enlarged to a detailed miniature the closer we approached.

At Fukuhara servants ran back and forth. I avoided the clusters of hooded priests who roamed the corridors like scavenger birds on a beach. Could one be the priest I was seeking? I scanned for a crooked nose below empty eyes.

Our serving girls settled Misuki, Emi and me into rooms from which we could view the sea, a sight new to us. Our quarters were more rustic than they had been at Rokuhara, but compared to the Village of Outcasts, they were luxurious. My possessions, especially my writing box, had arrived safely. Misuki had ensured the security of my logs and other papers, procuring every paper out of the hiding places. All were undisturbed.

With some leisure while the servants scurried about, I studied my belongings. Inside my writing box, four or five brushes lay on a small tray, also inlaid with mother-of-pearl and yellow stones. Each brush was a singular beauty, with a painted design on one, inlaid woods on another. Each represented a miniature world to me. My determination grew stronger to improve my writing with these beautiful new tools. Here, where the
kuge
, the People-Above-the-Clouds, revered beautiful calligraphy, it was crucial I do so.

I also needed tools to continue working out a plan of revenge. Writing was only one of them. I needed more trusted contacts. Tokikazu was helpful, as were Obāsan and Ryo, her nephew who was now a part of my circle of spies. How was I to make sufficient connections to obtain information about my powerful enemy?

With all I had learned so far, I knew little about Three Eyes.

What would happen when Michimori arrived? Might there be another Three Eyes in Fukuhara?

As the
kuge
say when kept waiting too long, ‘The calendar was almost unrolled.’

BOOK 12

I. Sea Bass

Most
kuge
rejoiced at the cooler coastal temperatures at Fukuhara. I imagined the sun rising from the white-tipped sea in the early pink sky. I wished to smell salty breezes during winter. Hardy since childhood, I had always relished brisk weather.

Obāsan had many talks with me during those early days in Fukuhara. She began by saying, ‘You need to know about Governor Michimori.’

Settling in for a story, I made myself comfortable in front of the writing table where I spent time after my field practice.

‘Are you aware he is now second-in-command of all the Taira armies?’

‘N-n-no,’ I stuttered, my eyes wide, without regard for decorum, because we were alone.

Obāsan asked if she could arrange for her favourite court ritualist to visit me regularly.

‘Yes,’ I agreed, but not before I asked timidly, ‘May Misuki sit with us?’

‘Yes, my lady, but to what end?’

My response came easily: ‘She is a trusted friend as well as a servant. I rely on her as much as I do upon you.’

Obāsan’s fingertips stroked the back of my hand. ‘All right.’

I had studied much, but knew little. I promised myself I would listen closely to both Obāsan and the court ritualist. Every shred of information was useful to me: it might reveal the head of Three Eyes and set it on a spike. Misuki joined us and Obāsan began, ‘The Taira Clan traces its ancestry from Emperor Kammu, whose grandson first bestowed the name. Generations later, Chancellor Kiyomori has risen to the highest status possible for a commoner. Kiyomori’s second youngest brother, Norimori, is Michimori’s father. Did you know Michimori is Norimori’s firstborn?’