The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai (53 page)

In the mountains there is no space between day and night. Night comes soon. Therefore both sides retire.

Twenty-fourth day of the Sixth Month

The feet of an enormous
oni
throb beneath me. Earthquake?

I glimpse Michimori. His eyes are open. He leaps up. Heavy drums flog the earth – the final fury of the great God of War, flailing the ground, jarring us.

I hear before I see it. The air is thick. The mountain shrieks from a long way, but comes closer – and closer. Louder. Coming nearer. What is it? Danger! I gather my weapons and find my horse.

I smell it before I see it. Cattle. The odours of animals, the smell of a herd. The stench of panic – with the bittersweet smell of fire. Fire! Where is it? Men’s screeches and shouts.

In the smoke, the dark, I can barely see them. Moving fire. Firesticks! On fire! The oxen are on fire! Flames and smoke coming from their horns! Hundreds of moving flames coming down the pass – towards me!

BOOK 16

I. Return

We grabbed the horses and clambered on to them. Wails and animals’ shrieks plummeted over the black edges of the earth. Death cries boomed against the mountains, like sword strokes on stone. The smells of blood and torn flesh smothered the air. Horses’ hoofs trampled bodies and sucked at the mud made with their pulp.

The darkness, screams and echoes lasted an aeon.

That morning, when the sun emerged, few were left, a ravaged crop after a ferocious storm.

The march home began.

In retreat we travelled south into Kaga Province near Shinohara where, as Michimori’s stream of beleaguered and breathless messengers foretold, we met the Minamoto again. Another battle on the Second day of the Seventh Month. My stomach filled with ice and slaughter, my brush too hefty and bitter to write any more of battles.

The Minamoto trailed and stalked us, like the animals they were, until we verged on the capital. Hare moved his troops towards Yamato, south-east of Heian-kyō, and Rat moved his directly towards the city.

When the Taira Council met again in Rokuhara, a saddened Purple Grass received a consensus from others to beg help again from Mount Hiei. We needed their
s
ō
hei
army, our allies from before.

The messenger returned with bad news. Not only had our request been denied, but Mount Hiei was ready to receive Rat. Michimori had predicted this.

No one met anyone else’s eyes. No matter how many torches were lit, the corridors subdued my disposition into a winter night with snow squalls.

Despite Michimori’s vigorous protests, the other commanders opted to take a pilgrimage. Perhaps this one time Michimori was mistaken. The situation demanded prayers of intercession. The itinerary comprised three nearby shrines, none near Mount Hiei, because the
s
ō
hei
there would make us vulnerable. Therefore they chose temples within a short distance of Rokuhara.

I needed prayers. With all my learning and pursuit, I seemed no closer to locating Three Eyes, let alone the poisoner’s collaborators. No one could find the correct priest with a crooked nose and deformed soul. I prayed to the Goddess of Mercy to support me in the honourable retribution required. I prayed also for Tashiko’s spirit, so it would not haunt me or become a
yurei
.

The servants made the preparations, and we departed. The end of spring, with the cooler mornings, improved many tempers. With the luxury of servants, this journey would demand less of us than our march north with the troops – but, surrounded by priests with their faces covered, I would be ill at ease.

First day of Pilgrimage

Plover, the priest I trusted, led us east to Yasaka-jinja Temple. I wore my armour to ride next to Michimori and the ever-faithful Tokikazu under Akio’s scrutiny. Our pace was not rushed, a snail at evening. Michimori and I knew the commanders would take time to establish any course of action. At every small shrine along the road, I paused, rinsed my mouth and washed my hands, praying for guidance. I had to locate Goro. Soon.

We arrived at the temple for the evening meal. That night everyone prayed together in one group. A priest’s euphonious voice added to the pious atmosphere. During the recitation of
sutra
s, they burned so much incense that my eyes throbbed. Misuki was surprised that the trees around our tent did not catch fire.

Tokikazu probably overheard, because he tittered softly. Akio stifled a snort.

Second day of Pilgrimage

Last night the Gods spoke of the poisoner’s primary cohort – his face appeared in another of my vivid dreams. I wished to verify his identity, before I took my retribution.

Akio and Misuki believed me. They had experienced my dreams.

‘Dreams cannot give you such information.’ Tokikazu’s cheeks sank with his grimace.

Akio told his story, and Misuki added hers. She was so superstitious, though, that Tokikazu had told me he did not consider her credible.

‘Tashiko.’ My lips tangled over her name. ‘Tashiko was one of the most reasoned and reasonable people I know. She believed in my dreams. So strongly did she believe that she told me this story.

‘An honest fisherman named Chōkichi dreamed that if he walked along the river and stopped at the first large bridge, something good would happen. While waiting at the bridge, a
t
ō
fu
maker came up and asked him what he was doing. He mocked Chōkichi’s reply, “I never take dreams seriously. I dreamed that gold was buried beneath the paulownia tree where this road crosses the next! Anyone who follows dreams is foolish!” The
tō
fu
-maker walked on. Chōkichi went to the paulownia tree, found the gold and became wealthy.’

Misuki and I would confirm the identity of the poisoner’s accomplice. That second day, and for the remainder of the pilgrimage, Misuki was to socialise with servants and gather information. I would no longer ride exclusively with Michimori but pass among the wives and concubines. My eyes craved to see the man who had strangled my sweet friend, and I had to know what he planned to do next. Tokikazu and Akio would protect me.

Next we travelled to Kiyomizu-dera near Mount Ōtowa. Tokikazu, who continued to tell tales, shared this one:

‘Almost three hundred years ago, this temple was named by Enchin, a priest. He came to the Ōtowa waterfall nearby and met a hermit. This hermit had been waiting for Enchin so that he could abandon his hut and leave for the east. Enchin took the hermit’s place and set a statue of the Goddess of Mercy inside the hermit’s hut.’

Hearing this, Akio said, ‘There is more to that story.’ We pulled our horses together to hear, because Akio’s voice could be soft.

‘Years later a courtly man came to this area to hunt. He wished to kill a deer, since deerskin would be a good-luck charm for his wife, near childbirth. However, after he killed the deer, he met Enchin, who reminded him of the evil in killing animals. So Tamuramaro, for that was his name, buried the deer. His wife gave birth safely. Much later when Tamuramaro became a general and conquered the north-east, he gave thanks to the Goddess of Mercy of Kiyomizu.’

‘I will show you Tamuramaro’s burial mound at the temple,’ Tokikazu offered, eyeing Akio.

Akio whispered, ‘The grave groans whenever Heian-kyō is in danger.’

After this we remained silent until we arrived at Kiyomizu-dera.

There, near the burial mound, Misuki’s eyes enlarged until they filled her whole face. Her lips trembled; her body quivered. She chanted prayers for protection, moving her lips without sound, over and over. Her sensitive nature had absorbed the story. I required her to be alert, not rigid with dread, so I swept one arm around her waist and grasped her hand.

Kiyomizu-dera comprised more than twelve buildings of varying sizes. The buildings were on several levels, of which each was constructed with stone walls and steps. Large groves of trees formed a perimeter close to them. With only budding leaves, they resembled spiders’ webs in a forgotten corner. Could this be another trap? Goro could be anywhere here.

Misuki calmed at the temple, and I shared some intelligence. Hoichi, Mokuhasa’s cousin, had verified enemy sympathisers among us. He and Mokuhasa would flush them out.

Late into the night we developed a plan with Plover.

Michimori, his élite samurai and I met individually with the priests. Alone with one, I checked his nose. Straight. I relaxed a little.

‘There are certain
sutra
s you must say now to keep a new life strong.’ He smiled at me.

Afterwards, I pulled Misuki into a garden. We strolled to the middle and squatted face to face. ‘I have made a decision. There is no need to gather those herbs.’

‘Yes, Kozaishō.’ Misuki grinned and placed a hand on her own stomach. ‘I understand.’

We embraced as only two dear friends can, weeping for new life and for death.

Away from the city, the trees around Kiyomizu-dera were coming into leaf. With the new growth and superabundance of green, I thought of all that was growing and wrote this poem:

Blossom time arrives

Rain beating against the roof

Green leaves burgeoning

Tiny pale buds on bushes

Who will the spring produce?

Third day of Pilgrimage

Everyone travelled to Hōshō Temple, the third one. Misuki snuggled next to my body as we moved on in the cool morning. I nestled back.

At a more appropriate time, I promised myself, I would share my secret with Michimori. His reticence and taciturnity of late rendered me hesitant. I did not wish to add to his burdens of authority. I chose to wait until a more propitious time. When would that be? Who could I ask? Misuki said Akio, but I believed Tokikazu had Michimori’s ear.

After we reached the gates, Tokikazu said, ‘More than a century ago, Hōshōji was built in the place where one of the old palaces stood.’ His eyes related his sentiments, without words, without touch, but I owed loyalty and love to Michimori.

‘The first building is the pagoda, which has eight sides, nine storeys, and is eighty-four
j
ō
high, like a painted mountain, rising tall out of the earth,’ Tokikazu finished his story. Akio trailed us, scowling at one of us, then the other.

I settled into the tent just outside the temple. The Chief Priest and his ranking priests made elaborate greetings. As with those at previous temples, they remained in their heavily hooded robes. They assured us of private meetings with a priest. I was reassured, but decided I would have no meetings with any priest unless my dagger was with me.

Before the meeting with the First Ranking Priest, another priest showed me, Misuki, and my serving girls their Amida statue and added:

More than a hundred and fifty years ago, this is the statue to which Fujiwara no Michinaga tied his string. He died holding that string attached to the beloved Buddha to ease his entrance to Heaven.

I remained at the Buddha’s feet for a time. My eyes dripped with the chance of revenge for Tashiko and Emi. In the moment’s perfection I also remembered Byōdōin and its colossal shining Amida Buddha.

Fourth day of Pilgrimage

Today I and other samurai arranged the snare’s jaw. Hoichi had discovered the names of two more men, besides the one in my dream. The Chief Priest and the two ranking priests agreed to have Plover disguise himself as a priest of Hōshōji. He could pray and behave like a Temple priest with his wide hood and cowl. He would meet with each person suspected of traitorous thoughts, actions and murder. I prayed Goro would be found and captured, too.

Plover confirmed the names of the three men who did not speak with loyalty that night. Michimori, Tokikazu, Akio, the other samurai and I planned the rest. Plover would meet the men again and make his proposal for their attack.

Here Misuki and I said and wrote the formula for protection:

adande dandapati dandavarte dandakushale dandasudhare

sudhare sudharapati buddhapashyane sarvadharanai-avartani

sarvabhasyavartani su-avartani samghaparikshani

samghanirghatani asamge samgapagate tri-adhvasamgatulya-arate-prapte