The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai (46 page)

The untimely death of Emperor Takakura at the end of the first month was followed by Chancellor Kiyomori’s death in the third. A mourning bell rang through his family’s hearts – ear-splitting, public and painful. Michimori grieved, and I could not assuage his sorrow, although I surrounded him with song, dance, poetry and pleasuring.

Prayers to say, places to visit and processions to watch interrupted my studies. Thank the Gods, Obāsan and the court ritualist told me what to wear, what to say, with whom to speak, and which colours I could and could not use in my robes. Black was now the colour for funerals. Although it was tedious, I learned.

The restrained Third Month Third Day celebration compared poorly with what I remembered at Chiba’s
sh
ō
en
. No monks attended the celebration at Michimori’s. I remained alert, although I was not to be one of the dolls. My memories of Tashiko as a doll were easier to contemplate now, but I knew her spirit could not rest until I had completed my vengeance for her death. My chest tightened at this failure. Out of habit, out of desire to honour my beloved, I searched the crowds for the crooked nose, monk or not.

The
kuge
watched paper dolls floating along garden streams. Later I received some as gifts and gave one to Misuki, Emi, and each of my new serving girls. Cooks created treats,
hishi-mochi
, diamond-shaped cakes coloured red, white, and green. I recalled how Tashiko explained, ‘Red chases evil spirits away, white for purity, green for health.’ Cooks also prepared
sakura-mochi
, bean paste-filled rice cakes with cherry leaves, which had been a favourite with Emi.

The Buddhist monasteries blew wet snow on to this mountain of intrigue with their disfavour. Rumours spread that the Taira had angered the Gods with Kiyomori’s illness and death as proof.

During the nights Michimori and I reviewed these affairs and strategic players over and over again. One: our strengths included the regent, the son-in-law of Michimori’s uncle, although he was young for such a post. Two: our followers were loyal. Three: our samurai had trained well, and previous battles had hardened them. Four: Michimori sent messengers to the monasteries to repair the damage to relationships. Five and Six: the Taira had defeated the Minamoto before. Twice.

Tracing my face with his fingers, Michimori explained with a glint, ‘As in a game of Go, one should always have pieces that can move in numerous directions.’

I remembered Tashiko teaching me the same. I no longer felt the deep bite of longing for her memory. I cared now for Michimori, observed his strengths and ignored his difficulties. I remembered what Obāsan shared: ‘Michimori has the Majestic Calm of a great leader and his essence is Pure Tranquillity. Depend on him for the clean action from a pure spirit without emotion.’ I did.

The Taira Council met just days after the death of Michimori’s uncle, and I attended behind the screens. Munemori, named Purple Grass, because his decisions proved equivocal, claimed to be Kiyomori’s successor.

Purple Grass shared Kiyomori’s last words: ‘Taira no Kiyomori was happy to have served the Imperial House.’

Murmurings of agreement filled the room of the Taira Council.

‘Kiyomori spoke of his honour in attaining the highest rank a commoner could attain.’

Mutterings again filled the room with nods now almost blowing a breeze. Some of the men displayed themselves like the mating crested ibis. I stifled a laugh, remembering Misuki’s giggles at the Bowman’s Wager and Michimori mocking his uncles and cousins. How dense the atmosphere had grown.

‘Did he have any requests?’ Shigehira, now called Oak, said.

‘Yes,’ Purple Grass said. ‘He wished for the head of Minamoto no Yoritomo. His final wish was to have Yoritomo’s head hung on his tomb.’

This stopped all. The silence was as thick as a wild bamboo grove.

Oak looked at all present. He sighed for everyone to hear. ‘It is clear we must prepare for war again.’

So the Clan did.

After the meeting I trudged to my honourable lord’s apartments, not matching his brisk stride as I usually did. He left a trail of anger and bitterness, with his usual sandalwood scent. The fragrance and thoughts of war slowed my feet.

Upon our arrival in the apartments, a servant removed Michimori’s outer formal garments. Although his favourite censer had been lit, he went out to the gardens. I trailed behind him. He paced along each path to the ponds and bridges. I did not attempt to keep up, but I did listen.

Pounding one fist into another, Michimori ranted, ‘The Minamoto – especially Yoritomo! He is cunning. We should have named him Fox, not Go-Shirakawa.’

He stormed back into his apartments. I followed again, at a safe distance. He reached into his
hoeki no h
ō
, jerked out a map and slammed it on to the table.

‘Look!’ He jabbed a finger at the map, prodding each specific point. ‘He is no longer here . . . or here . . . or there!’

Unfamiliar with the terrain, I followed until he pointed to a place I recognised. The markings on this map created a flat picture for me. I grasped the topography. ‘Michimori,’ I said, almost under my breath.

He raised his face from the map, and our eyes met.

‘Remember I am your Hunter’s Dog. I will be the samurai to sit behind any screen wherever and whenever you need me. I will be the samurai to fight beside you until your uncle’s last wish is fulfilled.’

He unclenched his fists. Tears streamed in rivulets over those dark cheeks, and he lifted me to his face and sobbed into my neck. ‘I fear we are doomed without my uncle.’

I wept also. The same dread had rung in me.

Gion’s bell tolls

The procession of

Crested ibis

Strut and parade by

Driving us into downfall

The air had warmed by the Fifth day of the Fifth Month. There had been no festivals recently because the nation remained in mourning, but now the Tango Festival had returned. I received many flowers, even from Emi, probably after prompting. With the beautiful irises, despite the impending conflict, I thought myself most fortunate. Some stalks were white, like fresh snow, some golden, like sunshine; the rest were as purple as the angry sea before an autumn storm.

‘We must cover the roofs,’ Misuki insisted. She obscured them with iris leaves and mugwort branches. She pushed irises and mugwort into my hair, attached them to my pillows, wrapped them around my scabbard and stuck them on Dragon Cloud’s saddle and throughout my palanquin.

‘You do not have time to become ill,’ Misuki chided. She clicked her tongue, reminding me of Mother, which stopped any arguments. I followed her instructions.

All wives, concubines and ladies-in-waiting attended a shortened Flower-viewing Ceremony. Our sweet Emi did not remember the Tango Festival from last year or understand what the imperial tournaments were, yet she clapped and laughed and bobbed her head at the music, dancing and painting from Chinese models. She tired easily. Accordingly, we sent her back to our quarters with an appropriate escort.

Most conversations in the fields concerned swordplay or poetry. Tokikazu wanted Minamoto no Yoshinaka to be called ‘Rat’.

‘N-N-No,’ Sadakokai disagreed. ‘I think he should be called “Hare” because he ran away when he approached our troops, just like that timid creature.’

Akio and Michimori laughed.

Then Michimori said, ‘Let us keep that.’

Tokikazu’s lips merged into a flat line, and his precision was less than perfect on his next shot.

IV. Pretence and Counsel

Encouraged and supported by my companions, I lunged forward in my plans. Emi, Misuki and I could have died terrible deaths from the poisoned food. Those thoughts kicked my stomach like a heavy
kemari
ball.

Late one day Tokikazu escorted me out of Grand Room, and gestured with our predetermined signal, meaning that the clothing was ready. I drank the infusion of herbs that would keep me awake. In the middle of that night I left Michimori and crept into the designated corridor. Akio and Sadakokai were mountains against the faint light. We held up lamps to see the magnificent cloth, examining it thoroughly to remember each detail. The thick damask lay across our hands, heavy with embroidered trees and cranes. Its blues would fit perfectly into nearly any layering of robes.

I dared not make a sound, but I searched the eyes of Akio and Sadakokai, then bowed with gratitude. A robe of this cloth, given to Norahito as a gift by one of our own neutral priests, would bait my trap. I returned to Michimori’s side before he had stirred.

On the practice field the next day, Tokikazu nodded approvingly. He said, in the formal way, ‘My lady, it is my sincere wish that you enjoy your trip to the Kitano Shrine.’

The cue.

Misuki and I shared an ox cart, without Emi or the serving girls, for the short excursion to Kitano Shrine and its red- and white-blossomed plum trees. I prayed to Tenjin, spirit of the scholar and poet Sugawara no Michizane, the God of Calligraphy. I required His help with my poor brush. On our return from the shrine, Sadakokai rode casually past.

Behind the ox cart’s curtains I took off my robes and gave them to Misuki to wear. My armour had been easily concealed underneath my layered robes. I dropped away from the procession where Sadakokai waited with a horse. We rode out of range of others and hobbled our mounts behind a tight copse of trees near a stream and shadowed our prey, an ox cart with several men.

Would this fight avenge us? Would Goro be there? Would I be able to kill him? I worked to calm my thrashing heart. Akio came up beside me and placed a hand on the back of my saddle. ‘My lady Kozaishō, you have allies here if you want or need them.’

My eyes met his with thanks. ‘This is an act I need to perform alone. That is why I have not informed my lord Michimori.’

Akio nodded, as did Sadakokai. I hoped they would not interfere. Where was Tokikazu? I did not risk asking Akio.

The ox cart travelled up the stream bank away from the mud. Two men climbed out, perhaps for a drink of water, perhaps to stretch their legs, more likely to plot and scheme against the Taira Clan. I saw only their backs. One was a man I had never before set eyes on, but I had held his offence in my mind for a long time. The brocade of his robe was embroidered with trees and cranes. This was the poisoner, the traitor.

Walking towards Norahito I called out my name, as I had in battles. He twisted towards me and placed his feet in the mud. He heaved his sword out of its scabbard – knuckles pale from gripping too tightly – eyes wide and dark. I had surprised him.

I took a defensive stance. The second man ran away with a shriek. Norahito bellowed and attacked. My Priest’s Robe Stroke cut deeply through the traitor’s flesh from his neck to his belly. His sword dropped into the mud. Blood seeped through the gorgeous cloth across his chest, paying for his attempt on three women’s lives. Upright, he wavered, his eyes grew larger, gazing at me with malice.

‘Why poison me? Who was behind this?’

His eyes glared. Swollen red. ‘Had many collaborators.’ Then he fell into the mire, face down.

Remembering Tokikazu’s advice, I stood near, my sword ready to strike, my eyes focused for any movement. None. Yet I had wanted to question him, gain the information that would lead me to Three Eyes. Now this lead was gone, with a new cast of demons.

When Sadakokai and Akio returned, they were calm. The blood spatter on their robes informed me that they had dispatched the other men.

‘Do we kill his servants to keep them quiet or can they be paid?’

‘We can p-p-pay them, my lady,’ Sadakokai said, and motioned to a bag of coins hanging at his waist.

‘Do I need to send my sword to the polisher?’ I wondered, as we rinsed our face and hands in the stream.

‘Yes, my lady,’ Akio said, ‘when we return to Rokuhara.’

I had not realised I had spoken aloud. ‘Shall I?’

‘I know a polisher who will not talk.’

‘Will anyone be waiting for us along our route home?’

‘There were only f-f-four, now gone.’

‘Thank you, honourable Akio, honourable Sadakokai.’ I bowed deeply to both men before mounting my horse.

After I had stolen into my ox cart, we returned to Rokuhara. Later Akio rode beside the cart, and his eyes said I had taken the Right Action. I appreciated Akio and Sadakokai, but yearned for Tokikazu’s companionship.

I pretended to have undergone the monthly defilement and a priest with the same reputation for silence as the polisher and the tailor cleansed me of the blood. Satisfied that I had protected those around me from at least this one traitor, I said special prayers for Tashiko, whom I had not safeguarded. I gave thanks and lit candles to the Buddha for my courage and His blessings, still wondering why Norahito had attempted to kill me and, besides Three Eyes, who else had been behind his action.

Most days Michimori requested my presence in Grand Room. Afterwards we returned to his quarters, where we whispered about the issues, the strategies and the people. Sometimes we giggled like girls over the antics we had witnessed.

‘Tomorrow I hear the case of a wife who ran away and married another man. What do you say?’