The Seabird of Sanematsu (30 page)

He gazed into her green eyes and sighed. He had wished for a companion such as this young girl for so much of his life. She brought controversy, dissent and bloodshed. He needed time to weigh the problem before his next move. Did he have it? Death seemed to have approached even closer to his bedside.

Uesugi entered, deflecting his thoughts. Hikita accompanied him, limping from his wound; a dressing bound the deep cut in his left thigh.

“Lord Matsumoto has departed,” Uesugi announced. “Nakata-sama’s men have been posted at guard.”

Hikita glared at the boy. It was his place to tell Sanematsu.

“Very well. Station yourselves outside the entrance and rest. We shall all need our strength.”

**
*

Aderyn removed the zabuton from behind Sanematsu’s back and helped him lie down. She attempted to move away, but he restrained her. Without a word, he indicated she should rest at his side. Content, she nestled in the crook of his arm against his unharmed side, his shoulder her pillow. When she looked at his face, his eyes were closed and he seemed to be asleep.

With caution, she reached to touch his bare chest above the binding. As she began to withdraw without touching him, he clasped her wrist with the same swift suddenness he drew his sword. She glanced at his face; his deep eyes smiled at her. He placed her small, white hand flat on his broad, brown chest, and then released her wrist to lay his hand over hers. They settled into a quiet closeness.

“All of my life, I have prepared for my position as daimyo.”

His deep voice broke the silence, his breath on her hair. She kept her eyes closed as she listened.

“When he came to be daimyo, my father was twenty-nine years of age, with more battle and political experience than I had when I came to the seat at fifteen. I was preparing to embark on my manhood ritual when he died after a victorious battle, as is the glorious reward of a warrior.

“My empowerment was swift. The same day, my mother left for a temple in the Eastern Mountains. Haru-sama, joined with Katayama Naotora several years before, resided at Fukuyama. Thus, strangers surrounded me. I had never met my wife and stepdaughter until two moons before on our first night together.

“My father claimed I was too tied to my mother’s uchiki sash. While my peers rode into battle at their fathers’ sides, I rarely saw or had close contact with mine. My mother taught me about ruling. She did me no disservice, and I have fallen back on her advice often.

“My most important task was not on the field of war, but upon the futon. I was to sire an heir. The council arranged marriages with women who would ally me with important men, and my wives’ pregnancies were times of great joy and hope in Nishikata. While I care for my girls as much as any father, with each daughter the council has encouraged me all the more. I am glad I have no son. The burden of rule is a terrible thing to pass on to a boy because he has had the misfortune of being the firstborn male.

“I cannot live for myself. I must do that which will benefit the Satsuma Province. A male heir is what I must have. To that end, I must take a fourth wife.”

He gave a heavy sigh.

“May I be so bold as to inquire what happened to your wives? Sachi-sama has not told me much about them. I did not know there was more than one, Aya-hime’s mother.”

“My daughters’ mothers have all died.” He spoke without emotion.

Time passed in silence. The sound of horses and men receded as the army departed. He broke the quiet again.

“I must have time to heal so I may decide my future and my children’s fates as well as yours, Ko-tori-sama.” He brushed his lips across her hair. “If it is my karma, and yours, I shall always have you as part of my house.”

“I will abide by whatever must be, Yoshi.”

Could he find the courage to refuse his council’s choice? Could he find the desire to make her his wife? Such hopes were the stuff of dreams--the bonds of custom and responsibility were too thick for one mere man to cut. He would do his duty.

“I will decide what is right for all, Ko-tori-sama.”

“I know.” She blinked away the tears in her eyes. She would not cry.

“Sleep. We must be off early.”

He exhaled a deep sigh of finality. She could not rest until his chest rose again with the labored respirations of his pain and fever. Mesmerized, she was afraid of the moment when he would take his last breath.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Reaching the crest of the hill above the war camp, Aderyn looked back over her shoulder at the final tent--Sanematsu’s--being struck. Her heart fell, and her troop of foot soldiers passed as she paused.

They had parted at sunrise. She and Uesugi said their goodbyes to Lord Sanematsu after a sparse meal in the dim light of false dawn. Sanematsu could not eat and took little of the tea she prepared for him. She forced herself to empty the bowl of millet gruel and eat some fruit because he watched, as concerned about her as she was him.

Now she saw him, beside a kaga. He stood tall and dignified, as if the battle had never taken place. Hikita was at his side, close enough to support the failing daimyo. The dark kami-shimo and hakama covered any evidence of bleeding. His hair dangled to his shoulders as she had left it.

Dai-tan, wearing only a blanket from withers to tail, stood tied to another samurai’s horse to tag along instead of leading the group. Sanematsu’s honor guard and bearers waited to begin the journey to a destination only he knew.

As Uesugi pulled on her horse’s bridle, empty longing tugged at her heart.

**
*

Stepping into the kaga, Sanematsu watched the horses disappear over the crest. As she dressed his hair and they spoke their farewells, Ko-tori had been gay and lighthearted. It was pretense--she was as apprehensive as he kept trying to talk himself out of being.

He thought back to his solitary meeting with Uesugi before they departed.

“Uesugi-uji, I understand you are unbetrothed,” he began after his manservant had finished dressing him. He sat, regaining his strength from the ordeal.

“My wise father has not yet deemed me worthy of joining.” Nervous energy forced Uesugi to finger his sash, empty of weapons.

“Much thought must be put into joining one’s heir. Even I, with only daughters, must consider such matters carefully. I find, however, that females have a way of selecting the men they wish, especially if they are as indulged as mine. Take, for instance, Aya-hime. She has hinted that one of the new samurai has caught her interest.” He was grateful for Tori’s enlightening word in regard to “the youth” Aya spoke of. “She will not confess this man’s name, so I might inquire of his desires. Do you think you might ask and discover this suitor?”

“I–I…could…uh, would…” Uesugi paused and gulped. “Sire, I would be honored to help you in this matter. Uh, sire…well, uh…a man would be fortunate to catch the eye of such a beautiful woman as your stepdaughter.”

“This is true. She must be guarded from herself and her young man’s appetites. Shielded from impropriety. You will see to it, then? While I am away, you will keep the two apart?”

Anxiety and hope warred on the young man’s face.

“I can assure you of a proper reward.”

“Thank you, sire, but no reward is necessary. A kind word to my father about my ability as a warrior would be appreciated.”

“Very well. If I should have cause to speak with Uesugi Tadayori, I will mention it.”
He is a good man. Aya could do no better.

Settled into his covered litter, the daimyo lolled between consciousness and sleep. He wanted nothing more than to sink into oblivion. Sweat pouring off his forehead and body soaked his clothing. The heat of his fever threatened to burn the skin off his aching bones. His head felt bigger than the whole kaga and throbbed with every movement as a signal was given and the bearers lifted the litter onto sturdy shoulders. They made off at a trot in the direction of the Eastern Mountains.

Sanematsu awoke sporadically throughout the day to feel his condition worsening. His heart pounded, and he could hear the air as it moved in his chest. His feet and hands were no longer hot but cold, almost numb. The pain in his side was constant and severe, as though the sword still turned within his body. His breath was ragged and shallow, any deeper would result in a sharp pain.

The drug he drank from the vial given him by the doctors dulled the pain but left him drowsy. Should bandits attack the small group, he needed to be alert, so he took the dose sparingly.

Near dusk, he called the procession to a halt and with Hikita’s helping hand stepped feebly from the kaga. Continuing with the man’s aid, he walked to the road’s side to relieve his bladder. The stream of urine was dark and meager in the waning light.

He stood for a long minute after Hikita helped him to close his clothing. As he stared toward the valley in the west, only Hikita’s discreet, strong arm kept him upright.

The evening sky was splendid at this point in the road. A red sun descended into the dark, forest-covered humps of the mountains. Deep shadows cloaked the valleys. The other group should be making camp for the night, to enter the yashiki walls the following day.

He returned to his bed. It would be dark before his group arrived at his refuge, but he could not risk his life with an overnight camp. Time was of the essence if he were to survive.

**
*

Aderyn picked at the small bowl of rice and dried fish Uesugi brought her. She leaned against her saddle, set on a blanket spread on the ground away from the fireside where the men had prepared their meal and now ate. The young man sat across from her, finishing his meal with relish.

When he noticed she was not eating, he set the bowl and hashi aside. “May I intrude upon your thoughts?”

“They are very small.” Aderyn put a grain of rice into her mouth. She rolled it over her tongue and mashed it against the back of her front teeth until she came to the hard, uncooked center. This she crushed with her back teeth. The samurai were better warriors than cooks.

“Lord Sanematsu will be safe. The most skilled and trustworthy warriors guard him. He, too, can defend himself well.”

“I do not worry about his safety. Those around him are the best, but he could do little to save himself from an insect. It is his health and what will happen on his return that I worry about.” She put her full bowl on the ground beside her.

“He will sort out matters and will be healthy enough on his return to act accordingly.” Uesugi paused for a moment. “Do you fear his decision concerning the council’s choice for his wife?”

“Is it so obvious? I suppose I do,” she confessed, surprised at her audacious statement. “You must know how it feels to want something so badly it hurts deep inside. To want it at any cost, at any risk, so much so you would gladly go to your death for it. You feel this way for Aya-hime?”

“That is not a concern of a samurai,” Uesugi answered with a gruff tone. “A samurai should have such thoughts only for his duty to his daimyo.”

“I cannot understand many of your ways. I can only understand how I feel. I want Lord Sanematsu happy not because of some code such as bushido but of the code of my heart.” She struck her chest between her breasts. “I want to take his pain and his trouble to myself. I would rather that sword had cut me!”

She sobbed into her hands. In Sanematsu’s presence, she had forced herself not to expose her emotions--he would not respect such a show, would see it as weakness. For too long she had held it in, and now it poured forth without restraint.

“How much can I hope to help him? I am powerless.” Although he had not said a word, she debated with Uesugi. “I am a barbarian! An alliance with me will cause him more difficulties. If I am at his side, everyone will be against him. I put him at risk just by being in his ryo-chi. My love will cause him to lose all he has. At the very least, it will keep him fighting, always mistrusting the people around him. I suppose he would die for me, but I am not sure the reason would be because he…he…he…thinks…he…”

She could not finish. It would betray too much to continue.

“He would not be so troubled if I were dead!”

“Do not think that way, Lady Tori.” Uesugi touched her hand. “I think, were you to leave him, the kami would easily possess him and send him into the oblivion of the insane.”

“Perhaps being driven insane by a ghost would be preferable.”

His bold speech astonished her. Most Nihonese conversation was couched in innuendo and riddle. He must feel their friendship had grown to allow for such openness.

“I am not sure my being with him would be such a great asset.” She wiped her face dry with the sleeve of her hitatare.

“An asset can be many things. You speak of your heart. I can only guess what you mean. Our women say the heart of a samurai is very small and well hidden.” Uesugi’s look was soft when he glanced her way. “I do not understand, but I think what Sanematsu-sama must feel for you is what I would call respect. That is the closest emotion to your love that a samurai can feel for a woman.” He paused and looked around before he said, “I would not be surprised if you are not soon officially Lady Tori, wife of Sanematsu.”

Aderyn fell silent while she retrieved her bowl. They spoke no more on the subject while she finished eating. Uesugi removed the empty bowls and left her for the night.

**
*

The mountain ridges rose in the dark. Cool air misted around the road, and night animals ventured out as the day creatures settled down to sleep. The black oak gates and brick walls of a Buddhist temple emerged from the shadows ahead of the travelers. The gatekeeper stepped out to meet the approaching band of samurai; the temple gate itself remained closed.

“Who disturbs the peace of this holy place?” He brandished a bo, the wooden staff the warrior-monks used with as much skill as a samurai did his katana.

“Lord Sanematsu Yoshihide, daimyo of the Satsuma Province,” announced the leader from horseback. “You will tell Sou Kiyohara we will need lodgings.”

The gate whispered open.

“You need not be so arrogant, honorable sire.” Another monk emerged from the shadows. “You are in the presence of the Great Lord Buddha. I have been expecting Yoshihide. Rooms are readied. Brother Kido, show the samurai where they may prepare camp. Bring our lord inside.”

The tired bearers carried the kaga within the temple walls and set it down before the dwelling set aside for Sanematsu. The stricken daimyo emerged, leaning heavily on Hikita.

“Yoshihide.” Kiyohara bowed at the waist. He called Sanematsu by his given name with the familiarity of having fostered the young lord. He was a tall man, the equal of Sanematsu. Although he wore the robes of a monk, his hair was coifed as a samurai’s, the pate, again like Sanematsu’s, hirsute. His unlined face did not betray his fifty years. His cheekbones were high, and his eyes widely angled.

“Sou Kiyohara.” Sanematsu’s voice came out weak and wavering. “I must request your aid. Help…”

He sagged. If not for Hikita, who moved in front to catch him in his strong arms, Sanematsu would have sprawled on the ground.

Kiyohara came to one side, and Hikita went back to the opposite side so they could carry him, unconscious, into the chamber and laid him down on the open futon. The abbot disrobed him; the cotton packing on his side was black. Crimson rivulets crawled down his skin to soak the white linen fundoshi.

Kiyohara stripped him, leaving him nude save for a small, clean cloth over his genitals. Then the priest removed the packing from the wound and, with care, probed inside. His educated fingers extracted a large mass of cotton fibers and old blood clots. A seepage of fresh blood followed. The priest spoke with sharp, quick words to Hikita, who disappeared to carry out the instructions.

Sanematsu stirred.

“Be still,” Kiyohara soothed him, patting his shoulder. “Rest. Sleep. Let me worry about this.”

The pacific tones eased the wounded man into unconsciousness.

Two monks entered the room, followed by Hikita. They carried trays of the herbs and dressings the priest had requested. Kiyohara filled Sanematsu’s open side with a poultice. The concoction smelled foul and must have stung the exposed nerve endings, as Sanematsu moaned even in his oblivion. Hikita held his master up as Kiyohara wrapped cloth around his torso.

**
*

Sanematsu drifted in a drugged sleep. His dreams, first vivid, then vague, came one upon the other. He saw some with clarity; others draped with mist.

In one, he was a younger man, dressed in the stark white of a bridegroom. All around, as he approached his bride, was as it had been during his first purification ritual; the hand he reached to accept would be Nene’s.

The bride turned in dream-slowness to face him. It was Ko-tori. A crimson-water curtain flowed to blot out the scene.

Startled partly awake by the dream, he struggled in Hikita’s bear hug. Kiyohara managed to secure the dressing. The priest spoke in a calming manner and mixed a strong sedative to force-feed to his patient. Sanematsu sank back into slumber as Hikita laid him back down on the futon. Blood seeped into the bandage on Hikita’s leg wound.