The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai (39 page)

Misuki stopped sewing, lifted her head and nodded. We both knew that much, but neither of us said anything.

Obāsan continued, ‘Kiyomori became great through gifts from the Gods. He rescued the emperor during the Hōgen Disturbance and became deputy of the Imperial Office for all of Kyūshū. Finally the emperor gave him the rank of Chancellor of the Realm, Junior of the First Rank.’

‘Kiyomori’s grandson is . . .’ she paused and lifted her arms up to the heavens ‘. . . Emperor Antoku.’ Obāsan bowed slightly to me. ‘Governor Taira no Michimori is from a long line of gifted warriors.’

‘Imagine!’ I murmured, as I returned Obāsan’s bow. My thoughts reeled from the recitation of the ranks and power into which I had been thrust. What was I doing among these people? How could I survive here, especially without Michimori, whom I had not even glimpsed since my arrival?

‘Let me share a story with you,’ Obāsan leaned back on a pillow, enjoying herself with an eager audience.

‘Chancellor Kiyomori went on a pilgrimage to the Ise Shrine with his escorts, a favourite wife, her ladies and some notable Buddhist priests. I mean the Tendai priests from Enryakuji, the ones from Mount Hiei, not the Shingon priests who were out of favour.’

As she mentioned the word ‘priest’, my eyes must have shown emotion. She touched the tips of my fingers. I wondered if she knew. Our eyes met.

‘You know?’ The words scarcely left my throat. Misuki looked at me, and subsequently at Obāsan.

‘We are not to speak of such things,’ Obāsan whispered. Her eyes darted to the rooms where the serving girls were and back to me. I motioned with my eyes to show understanding. So did Misuki. Obāsan cleared her throat with a mock-cough and continued in a louder voice.

‘While servants were playing Kiyomori’s favourite song, turbulence near the boat caused them to stop. The escorts looked over the side of the boat and drew their arrows in readiness. Others remained on the other side, so all was secure. The noise became louder. With greater commotion and spray, a vast sea bass leaped out of the water and threw itself into the boat.

The priests proclaimed it to be a sign from the Buddha. “We must eat it today,” they interpreted, “for it is an omen of immediacy.”’

‘They ate on a fast day?’ Misuki asked quietly, leaning towards Obāsan.

‘They feasted on the delicious fish. Kiyomori became the great leader he is now.’ Obāsan turned her palms upwards. ‘Michimori is following in Chancellor Kiyomori’s path.’

‘You speak with such respect and devotion.’ I left my question unasked.

‘When my husband died in the Hōgen Disturbance twenty-four years ago, Kiyomori attended the funeral and recited a poem to honour him.

‘My sons, the ones who are alive, are with Governor Michimori. My two eldest sons died in the Heiji Insurrection. Chancellor Kiyomori and Governor Michimori attended their funerals. Kiyomori dressed in elaborate brocade to honour my children. Michimori, even then, as a young man, embodied the Majestic Calm of a great leader.’ She added, with a soft smile, her eyes far away, ‘His essence is Pure Tranquillity. You can depend on Michimori, as I have, for the clean action from a pure spirit without emotion.’

I had much to think about, some hope, and went to the practice field that day in silence.

II. Summoned

Tokikazu and Akio trained with me in the fields and target areas each day, unless Divergent Directions forbade it. I disliked those days away from Tokikazu. His conversations and stories amused everyone, except Akio.

The varieties of cutting with my
tachi
grew familiar, and I improved slowly with
kisagake
, moving the blade in a quick whip-like action with each type of cut. Since Cutting-the-Sleeve was the first stroke I had learned, it was my best. Others improved. Some I had learned from travelling samurai at the Village of Outcasts. The samurai in Rokuhara, most subscribed to the Sanjo branch of the Yamashiro School. Relearning took time, since the differences were subtle yet important.

Every practice session included bow and horse, as well as short swords, daggers, knives and
shuriken
. I wondered about the
shuriken
but Tokikazu, my doting friend, often said, with a shake of his head, ‘You need to know everything.’

Obāsan brought me anything I wanted. Through her, I learned to read better. With writing, though, I still struggled, like a kitten in deep mud.

As for locating Three Eyes, my trusted people asked discreet questions of those we knew could keep secrets. For now, that was only a few. Tokikazu led me to others who were also safe harbours in what I found was an agitated sea.

Information arrived, often in morsels, too small and scattered to make a recognisable pattern. Even worse, it was often false. During practice, Sadakokai heard that Michimori was coming to Fukuhara. I did not believe this because Sadakokai had foretold it many times before. On this occasion I learned that the source of information was unlikely to be accurate, and that was important.

One particular morning practice was difficult because I was tired.
K
ō
shin
had been the night before, and everyone had remained awake all night. The court ritualist explained that Kōshin came every sixty days and that everyone kept vigil all night. Otherwise, worms in our bodies would travel up to the Heavenly God and report our misdeeds. The Heavenly God could decide to shorten our lives or end them. I did not believe in these worms, but the
kuge
did, and I had no wish to take chances.

Obāsan interjected, sweeping three fingers in the air, ‘If we slept, three different types of worm might attack us and cause illness, perhaps even death.’

Misuki thought it strange that neither of us had heard of it before, but she had remained awake.

I completed my practice, and Akio reminded me, ‘Samurai feel no weariness and no hunger.’ I felt sad because I certainly felt both.

A few days later, Obāsan raced in while I was having my bath, her plait flapping against her back, like a hooked fish struggling for water. ‘He is here!’

‘Who?’ I thought of Goro.

‘Commander-in-Chief Michimori!’

‘Now?’

‘You were the first person I came to see!’

‘W-who, h-how . . .’ I had not expected Michimori so soon, probably because of Sadakokai’s mistaken warnings.

‘My nephew Ryo knows one of the guards,’ she breathed. ‘We have much to do. Ryo overheard Governor Michimori say he was going to send for you.’

‘I thought he had forgotten me,’ I murmured.

Obāsan touched my shoulder, tugged at my hair gently and left. After a brief meal, the serving girls, Misuki and Emi arranged my hair and makeup, then readied my clothes. I found myself humming as I decided on which story to tell.

I settled on a simple tale of enchantment. A young lady, entranced by a prince’s love potion, becomes uninhibited. This story did not require costumes or props. I could manage with what I had already planned to wear.

When Obāsan came back to escort me, she had transformed herself into a regal bird. She wore heavy silk, thick with textured patterns, and the colours matched, from the blue-ribbon bird in her hair to the threads in her outer kimono and her shoes. The blue was a deep sky-without-a-cloud blue and made her white hair more startling and beautiful by contrast. Her eyes glistened more than they had when we first met. She touched my cheek with a finger.

‘I am an old woman, so I will not compliment you on how you look.’ She gave a small smile, and added in her most grandmotherly tone, ‘Remember, the Empress Aiko thought learning more important than clothes or a flirtatious manner.’

With that, she held out a new incense burner and put a scent on my hair and clothes. I admired the lotus-shaped burner. Each leaf was a different bright colour. I had never seen its like.

The dream I had cherished on the day I was sold to Chiba had come true. I was in a palace, wearing many-coloured robes, while servants get dishes of gold and silver before me. How could it be true that only the dreams of priests, high-ranking nobles and royalty came true? Even after Purification, I was a Person-Without-Rank, a Woman-for-Play – from a Village of Outcasts, summoned by the great Governor of Echizen, Third Rank, nephew to Chancellor Kiyomori. To what was I summoned?

I glided down corridors banked with tall screens and carved wood, the ceilings decorated with shining gold. Apprehension slowed my feet. My heart seemed to batter against my teeth. I had been sold three times already. I hoped Michimori would not sell me again.

Even if I were given to the guards or worse . . . I tried to banish those images, recalling that I had brought honour to those I loved most. ‘Look!’ I argued with myself. ‘I am with the emperors, in Fukuhara, dressed in Michimori’s clothes and cared for by his servants. He thought me deserving enough to purchase me.’

The poem he had sent me! I had put it in my sleeve to give me courage. I remembered my place in the procession to this city. How could this not have a favourable outcome?

‘Perhaps,’ I made a small prayer to the Goddess of Mercy, ‘I am spared for a different fate.’ I thanked the Goddess for allowing me to bring honour to my family, whatever was to happen now.

III. Meeting Again

The ever-present Tokikazu and Obāsan escorted me through more corridors to the Great Room. The door displayed startling wealth and power, with the faces of demons and gods carved into the shining brown and black woods. There was gold everywhere. I heard the agreeable music of several
koto
.

Guards opened the door to a room large enough to contain all the houses and huts at Hitomi’s. Soldiers stood everywhere, all in the same uniform. The ceiling was made of solid gold, and silk banners with the Taira butterfly crest hung from the walls.

Michimori sat on a raised platform several
shaku
above the floor. He was less handsome than I remembered, in bright elegant robes of gold, deep blue and purple, the light hue of the highest ranks, not the royal shade forbidden to all but the imperial family.

Samurai surrounded him, but were far enough away that he appeared to sit alone, though protected. Behind him, against bare walls, there were several three-part folding screens, painted with bamboo, birds and flowers. In front of the screens three
koto
players sat with their thirteen-stringed instruments. The music was soft and pleasant, as was the incense.

Obāsan left me inside the door with whispered directions: approach halfway to the raised platform, bow to the floor and wait. Tokikazu reminded me at the last moment about the Buddha’s five-part bow, while his hand skimmed my back. I prayed my shudders would be attributed to meeting Michimori, not to Tokikazu’s touch.

I performed the five-part bow, while my pulse pummelled me from stomach to eyes. I remained head down, lying flat in front of Michimori, for an unending time My limbs became tired and stiff, but I did not move, as I knew I must not.

Someone, he or another, shifted position. I heard the rustle of heavy clothing gliding over more cloth. A throat clicked, a sound I remembered as Michimori’s. Each man had his own.

The clicking first, and next, my honourable lord’s voice: ‘You have found favour. You have completed Purification. You and your ladies-in-waiting are ready to enter my household. Have you been shown your quarters?’

‘Yes, my honourable lord, Echizen Governor Taira no Michimori,’ I say, not daring to look up, rubbing my nose on the shining wood floor. He calls my name. I raise my nose high enough to peep over my hands to the source of the voice.

A faint chuckle fills my ears, like soft duck down, and he utters a single command, ‘Approach.’

I am unable to move.

He calls again: ‘Kozaishō, arise and sit here beside me.’

Surely he will not chastise me while I am seated next to him. I glance at him. His eyes are smiling. Glowing.

His hand encourages me to stand. I do so, my head slightly bowed and my eyes lowered. I approach, bow to the floor again and squat where his hand has gestured, directly before him. My fears vanish, like rain into dry ground. The same hand waves several times to the samurai, who rearrange themselves in two concentric circles along the far perimeters.